Free Shadows on a Maine Christmas (Antique Print Mystery Series Book 7) by Lea Wait Page B

happening, and she didn’t ask.
    Aunt Nettie’s suggestion that it was a perfect day to make gingerbread people solved the problem of what she was to do, and soon they were cutting out and decorating gingerbread boys and girls with a vengeance, focusing on lining up silver buttons and raisin eyes.
    Aunt Nettie was looking forward to the party at her friends’ house, no matter the weather. “Did you bring a nice dress, Maggie? Ruth and Betty will expect us to dress up a bit. You’ll see.”
    Maggie bent over the last tray of gingerbread children. “I have a dress,” she answered. She’d brought a silky red dress with a fitted top and swirly skirt she’d seen in a boutique window in Flemington and couldn’t resist. It wasn’t her usual style, but it fit perfectly, and she’d hoped she and Will might go to a nice restaurant for dinner, maybe in Portland. Or even go out New Year’s Eve. But it looked as though the party at Ruth’s and Betty’s house would be the dress-up occasion for this trip.
    “Wow!” Four hours later, the look on Will’s face was more than worth the dress’s price. “We should get dressed up more often.”
    Aunt Nettie nodded wisely. “You look very nice, dear. Will, you don’t look half-bad yourself. I’d forgotten you owned a tie.” Will was dressed in navy pants and a pale blue dress shirt (the color Maggie always thought reflected his eyes) and a red tie, topped by a tan wool sweater. For Maine, that was about as dressy as a man would get, short of his own wedding or funeral. Aunt Nettie was wearing a gray wool skirt with a red sweater set and pearls.
    “Very elegant,” Maggie announced, checking them all out. “And festive.”
    “It’s fun to have a party to go to Christmas Eve,” Aunt Nettie agreed.
    Will and Maggie each took one of her arms and helped guide her down the now-icy ramp.
    Their drive through Waymouth was as beautiful as it had been the night Maggie had arrived. Maine marked Christmas with thousands of tiny sparkling white lights woven in wreaths, trees and lamp posts, and through pine garlands and wide red ribbons bedecking bridge railings. In New Jersey most decorations were multi-colored flickering lights. Not to mention the grotesque inflated vinyl Santas and Rudolphs and Frostys that appeared on too many suburban lawns.
    Somewhere in Maine there was no doubt a totally tacky lawn scene, including roof lights, complete with Santa and all eight (or nine) reindeer. But wherever that was, it wasn’t in Waymouth.
    The large house where Ruth and Betty lived was on Hill Street, the highest elevation in town, lined with colonial homes built in the era when ships’ captains and owners wanted to look out over the harbor, survey their property, and watch for arrivals of schooners from distant lands and coasters from New York, Boston, and Portland.
    In those days there’d been few trees in towns; the Victorians’ value of trees as landscaping had yet to be established. Trees had been cut down for use in construction or as fuel. Today’s residents of those same houses found their harbor views blocked by large maples, oaks, and pines, and by taller houses, like the one Will might buy. But the stately captains’ colonial or Federal style homes still stood, grandly looking down at a town that had grown up to them in space, but not in elegance, over the past two centuries.
    Tonight Ruth’s home shone brightly, all rooms lit, electric candles centered in the wreaths hung in every window, and real candles set in the snow to mark the path to the door.
    In New Jersey the path would have been marked by paper bags filled with sand to support the candles inside. Here, with little wind and ample snow, there was no need for bags to hold the candles.
    “Quite a house,” Maggie commented.
    “Ruth always had more money than the rest of us,” said Aunt Nettie. “Although she never acted like it made a difference. Ruth’s and Betty’s father owned Waymouth Hardware, back