that connects the shop to your house. This one is for the front door that faces the lane beside us. And this one is for your garage.”
With outstretched hand, I accepted, then rubbed the silver between my fingers. It was heavy and intricately ornate. “This is beautiful.”
“Oh, aye. We have a silversmith in the village. Exceptional fellow. You’ll meet him.” She glanced toward the door. “Go on then. You do the honors. After all, ‘tis your house now, isn’t it?”
With a long look at the door, I said, “So when you said proprietor’s residence, you meant me.”
She laughed. “Well, o’ course. Who else might I be meanin’?”
“Honestly I’m still processing all this. Three days ago I had no idea I was related to an English shopkeeper.”
“Who said ye are?”
I was dumbfounded. “The letter I received said I inherited property.”
“Perhaps ‘inherited’ is the wrong word. ‘Tis more like you were chosen. A great stroke of luck to be sure. You must be Irish.”
“Not that I know of. What do you mean by ‘chosen’?”
“I don’t know all the criteria that goes into the process of choosing, but I’ll tell you that ‘tis always a person who’s deservin’. The last owner was a lovely man. Lived to be over a hundred and was still doin’ most things for himself. I think there’s somethin’ about the place that promotes long life. Happiness maybe.”
My skeptical and cynical sides were screaming at me to not be seduced by the prospect of happiness. From the outrageous talking car to the wares that ‘show up’ I was feeling more like Alice down the rabbit hole than the luckiest soon-to-be divorcée ever.
“And the former owner passed away?” I looked at the closed door. “Recently?”
Maggie’s features softened as if she understood my reticence. “No worries, lass. The spirit of the last owner passed on in peace. I have it on good authority. The space is full of goodness and nothin’ else. If you e’er decide to turn the key and step in, you’ll see. It’s been made ready for you.”
I was half decided that I was going to look and leave, but I’d come too far to go home without looking around and, at least, having the Q and A dinner. With Lochlan, the solicitor.
Holding up the key that I thought she’d said opened the door, I ventured, “This one?”
“You know. On second thought. Perhaps you’d rather begin with a front door entry. Let’s go ‘round the buildin’ and come in through the front. Personally, I do no’ put much stock in Eastern mysticism, but there’re some things about Feng Shui…”
She left that thought unfinished, but I took her meaning. “Well, if you…”
“Sure then. Do no’ know why I did no’ think of it sooner. Come along. We’ll walk ‘round.”
As we locked the shop door from the outside this time, I found myself wishing I could be both as decisive and sure of myself as Maggie.
The walk was short. We arrived at a green door set in the stone facing of the two-story building. There were two large casement windows accessorized by window boxes with blooming flowers. And I had to admit it was a warm and welcoming touch. The number on the door was 18.
Maggie pointed across the street. “Your garage is just there. No need for garages when the house was built you know. You might say ‘twas an afterthought.”
I nodded.
Maggie stood waiting patiently for me to remember I was holding the keys. “Oh. I have the key.” I laughed nervously. “Sorry.”
“No need for sayin’ sorries. I’m sure the circumstance would have most people feelin’ upside down.”
I turned the key and opened the door, half expecting some horrible odor, must or incense or mothballs, to send me running. There was no smell. Just the way I like it and an auspiciously good sign. So I swung the door open all the way.
The sight that greeted me couldn’t be described in any way except by one simple word. Perfect.
I’m not particularly imaginative or creative, but if I was, I’m sure the townhouse living room would be what I’d choose. Down to the smallest detail. The walls and floors were light. The fireplace was blackened with two hundred years of history and cheery fires. The furniture was covered in English floral prints that, while perhaps not in style, were pretty, homey, and welcoming. On the far wall there was an elegant French writing desk facing out toward a small garden.
I stepped in and turned in a circle. Again, I’m not