Warning lights went off in Maggie’s head. The words “decorations” and “not bother Gussie” meant more when they were ­connected to the woman who’d ordered those dresses she’d seen the night before.

“When’s your mother arriving?”

“She’s flying in next Thursday night.” Jim pulled into a parking space in front of Josie’s Bakery. “You stay put. I’ll only be a minute. I’m going to get those cupcakes Gussie wanted to take to Cordelia.”

The orange and yellow maple trees were brilliant that morning, and their fallen leaves covered the grass on the Green with a patchwork of colors. Few people were out and about this early, and those who were held containers of coffee and bakery bags. She could see a short line inside the bake shop.

Two girls carrying backpacks raced each other across the Green. Were they late to school? Maggie glanced at her watch. Almost 10:00. Maybe they were homeschooled. How old were they? Maybe eleven or twelve. If she remembered correctly, the Winslow Public Library was in that direction.

How soon would she have a daughter? Or two. What would she, or they, look like? African American, with curly black hair? Hispanic? Or maybe they’d have brown hair, like hers. Where was her daughter now? What was she doing?

Jim opened Maggie’s door and handed her two pastry boxes. “The bottom one is for Cordelia. The other is for you and Gussie for breakfast.” He waved a bag in her direction. “This is for me to take to my office. I couldn’t resist the cinnamon rolls. Hope you feel the same way.”

“Mmmm.” The scent of cinnamon filled the car. “I was hoping you’d get something like that when I saw people coming out with those boxes,” Maggie admitted. “Now I’m curious to see the new Aunt Augusta’s Attic.”

“It’s not exactly ready for business,” said Jim. “But it’s on its way. Gussie’s only a couple of weeks from the grand opening.”

Chapter 7

Dried Seaweeds, or Sea Mosses. In the nineteenth century seaweeds were called sea mosses. These delicate dark pink mosses were collected by Miss Marnie Wall of Crescent City, California, pressed in pleasing patterns, dried, placed in an album, and then presented to Charles N. Kendall (perhaps her fiancé?) in 1880. They’ve been carefully removed from the album, double-matted in dusky pink and moss green to form a shallow shadow box, and then framed. 12 x 15 inch-modern gold frames. Price: $150 each.

“I come bearing gifts, courtesy of your devoted fiancé,” Maggie announced, as she opened the door of Gussie’s new store and looked around. “Jim went on to his office. Wow. This is fantastic, Gussie! It’s twice the size of your old store.” She put the two boxes of pastries on the counter, which looked as though it only needed one more coat of varnish, and started walking around.

Gussie was talking with the carpenter on the other side of a pile of boards in the back of the store. “I’ll be with you in a minute!” she called out.

Deep shelves lined the walls on two sides of the large room, and unpainted stands and tables clearly intended for the center of the store were piled in one corner. The rest of the store included the bathroom; a separate office, clearly delineated by the desk, computer, printer, copier, and file cabinets already set up there; and another display room which formed an ell off the front room. That room hadn’t been equipped with shelving yet.

Maggie couldn’t wait for the cinnamon rolls. “Mmmm. Delicious!” She licked her fingers, as Gussie joined her. “At the rate I’m going, I’ll weigh an extra ten pounds by your wedding.”

“So. What do you think of the space?” said Gussie, taking a bite of her roll.

“It’s perfect. You have so much room, and light. And the large display windows will be terrific showcases for your dolls and toys. Your old store was nothing like this.”

Gussie nodded. “I’m especially excited about the windows. The first exhibits will be for Christmas, of course. I’m planning to set up an artificial tree in one window, with Victorian ornaments and ­Santas and Christmas books and dolls and toys underneath it. The other window will be a fireplace, complete with filled stockings, and of course, more toys. I’m already getting ideas for other holidays later in the year. Valentine’s Day, Easter, summer at the beach. One month I could set up a birthday party.”

“I can see why window-display designers have full-time jobs.”

“True. But at least the first year it should be fun.” Gussie dabbed her chin with her napkin. “My one concern for the store is that I’ll run out of inventory. In the old shop I never seemed to have enough space. Here, I may have too much. I haven’t been doing as many shows recently. Antiques shows aren’t as profitable for dealers as they used to be, as you well know, and they’re getting harder for me to do physically, so I haven’t been buying as much.”

“It’s hard. The most popular ‘antiques’ now are twentieth-century design items: architectural elements, furniture, and the kinds of pieces creative sorts can ‘repurpose,’ the new name for taking something old and finding a use for it that makes it appear modern and unique. That’s hard to do with the antiques you and I specialize in: dolls, toys, books, and prints.”

“Agreed. Our things are wonderful as ‘one of a kind’ items, or as small collections, displayed in special ways.”

Maggie nodded. “It’s interesting, though, to see what used to be considered boring black and white nineteenth-century industrial engravings now framed in black, grouped, and thought very chic and modern. I’ve sold some that have been featured in decorating magazines. Very far from traditional botanical or bird prints.”

“That’s why I loved the framed dried seaweed you had at the ­Provincetown show,” agreed Gussie. “And why I sell more individual toys or dolls today. People may not want to collect toys the way customers used to, but they do want one wooden folk art doll to put on a mantel or bookshelf, or one iron bank to give to an executive for his desk. Or perhaps they’re looking for an old Tonka truck to remind them of their childhood. They want an antique to make a statement.”

“With all this space you could showcase larger things: children’s furniture, or rocking horses. Things you couldn’t take to shows or put in your old shop,” Maggie suggested.

“Maybe in the future. But right now I don’t have anything to put in the back room.”

“An antique screen could hide the entrance. I have a three-­paneled Victorian screen with oil paintings that would be perfect. I wish I’d known. I’d have brought it for you.”

“I was thinking of hanging a quilt there. I have a couple I use for wall backgrounds at shows.”

“That would work,” Maggie agreed.

“But that would be temporary. For the long run I’ve a better idea for that space.”

“Yes?” Maggie turned from looking out the front window.

“There’s a fair amount of wall space there, plus room for at least four tables in the center. And easel space, too, depending. How would you like to take that room for some of your prints?”

“What? My prints?” Maggie checked to see if she’d heard Gussie correctly.

“Think about it, before you say no. I have extra space. You don’t have a shop for Shadows Antique Prints, and you don’t show your prints in any antiques malls. You could use the room however you wanted to. I think your children’s prints, and those related to the sea, to Massachusetts, and your shorebirds, ships, sea creatures, fish, that sort of thing, would do well here on the Cape. I’d have an extra draw to bring people to the shop. You’d have a place to show your prints.”

“But I use the prints at shows.”

“Of course you do, so you’d have to plan around that. And you’d have to come and change them periodically, so you wouldn’t always have the same prints here. But you’d always have a place to stay, with Jim and me, and it’s sort of halfway between Will in Maine and your home in New Jersey.”