by Nan Rossiter
“Well, I won’t argue with that,” she teased. “She still is!”
“Thanks a lot, you two,” Isak sniffled. “I love that you both feel the same way about me.”
Rumer paused. “Anyway, I came to see if you guys are ready for lunch.”
“Yup,” Beryl said with a nod. “Speaking of which, did Rand resolve his problem?”
“His teacher gave him a pass to buy a hot lunch, thank goodness.”
A soft beep came from Beryl’s pocket, but she didn’t seem to hear it, and Isak and Rumer both looked at her curiously. “What?” she asked innocently.
“No wonder you don’t get your messages,” Rumer said. “You don’t hear your phone.”
“I thought it was one of yours,” she said, feeling foolish, and pulled her phone from her pocket. Sure enough, the tiny screen indicated she had two new messages. Isak eyed the old phone and groaned. “I totally know what I’m getting you guys for Christmas!”
Rumer shook her head. “As much as I’d love an iPhone, the monthly charge is twice as much as a regular phone—so don’t get one for me!”
“Ru, you do realize you’ll be able to afford an extra ten dollars a month by then?”
Rumer shook her head doubtfully. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Beryl was smiling to herself and they both looked over her shoulders trying to see the screen. “Micah wants to know if we’d like a pizza for lunch,” she said quietly.
Isak nodded. “Sure! And ask him if we can use his car too.”
Beryl started typing slowly, pressing buttons multiple times, and Isak just shook her head. “You guys really need to come out of the Dark Ages.”
“I don’t think two or three years ago can be considered Dark Ages,” Beryl said, concentrating on her phone.
“In this day and age it is!”
Beryl’s phone beeped again and she immediately clicked on the message. “Any preferences?”
“Pizza Barn,” Rumer suggested hopefully.
“I don’t think they’re open on Mondays.”
“Grappelli’s, then—how ’bout Hawaiian?”
“Fine with me,” Isak said with a shrug. “Can you ask him to grab a bottle of Diet Coke too? Or, on second thought, a six-pack of Corona with a lime would be even better.”
Beryl shook her head. “Let’s not make it complicated.”
“Fine,” Isak said with a resigned sigh. She stood up and carefully slipped her books back into her box.
“Hey!” Rumer said, eyeing the dog-eared copy of The Fountainhead . “Is that mine?”
“I don’t think so,” Isak said, opening the cover. But on the title page it was inscribed: For Rumer, on the occasion of your eighteenth birthday! Lots of Love, Mum. Sorry, I guess it is!” she said, smiling and handing it to her sister.
While they waited for Micah, they started carrying filled boxes down the narrow stairs and stacking them by the door. Beryl found paper plates and napkins in the pantry, and was pouring iced tea when Flannery pulled herself up from her bed, plodded over to the door, and pressed her flat nose against the screen. Moments later, Micah appeared, holding a large pizza box; trailing up the stairs behind him was Charlotte, happily clutching a fistful of droopy dandelions that she’d gathered on her way from the car.
“Come on in,” Beryl called.
Micah pulled open the door and held it for Charlotte, who had finally reached the top step; but before he realized it, Flannery had pushed past him and headed straight over to greet the newest little arrival. Surprised, Charlotte stopped in her tracks and eyed the homely face uncertainly, but, ever-uninhibited, Flannery marched right up to her, sniffing and wiggling happily. Charlotte tentatively held out her hand and Flan gave it a sloppy, wet kiss, making Charlotte giggle.
“This is Flannery,” Micah explained, squatting down next to her. Charlotte nodded and gently rested her hand on Flan’s big head.
Beryl appeared at the door and smiled. “Did you find a new friend, Flan?”
Micah looked up and grinned. “Charlotte loves dogs.”
“Well, then, it’s a match made in heaven because Flan loves kids—they’re more her size.”
Smiling, Charlotte walked through the door with Flan at her heels, but then the little girl stopped short to give Beryl the bouquet, and the old dog, who had her head down, sniffing, bumped right into her and Beryl had to reach out to steady her. “Watch where you’re goin’, Flan,” she scolded gently. “These are beautiful, Charlotte—thank you! Do you want to help me put them in water?” Charlotte nodded and they went right over to the sink where Beryl lifted her up onto the counter. She rinsed out an old dusty Mason jar that was on the windowsill, filled it with fresh water, and Charlotte carefully arranged each stem, trying to encourage them with her finger to lift their heavy heads, but they just continued to droop. Beryl saw the dismay on her face and quietly reassured her, “Don’t worry, Char, they’ll perk up.” She looked up and saw Micah, still holding the pizza box, watching them. He smiled and she laughed shyly. “You can put that down, you know.”
Just then, Rumer and Isak came down the stairs and dropped two more heavy boxes onto the pile. “Hey, Micah!” they both said.
“Hey! Looks like you’re making progress.”
“We are—but did Beryl tell you? We need a way to transport all these boxes to the thrift store.”
“She did tell me, and Charlotte and I, and our old station wagon, are at your service.”
Isak and Rumer looked up and realized Charlotte was sitting on the kitchen counter. “Hey, girlfriend!” they both said.
Charlotte turned shyly away and Beryl put her arm around her. “Charlotte brought us this beautiful bouquet,” she said. The little girl looked up in surprise and pointed to Beryl. Beryl looked puzzled. “They’re just for me?” Charlotte nodded, and Isak and Rumer both laughed. “You don’t need to be afraid of those two crazy ladies,” Beryl said. “They’re just my big sisters.” But Charlotte wasn’t convinced and eyed them skeptically.
“She’ll warm up,” Micah said with a laugh. “Usually, I can’t get a word in edgewise.”
Beryl leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “Ready for some pizza?”
Charlotte grinned and nodded.
18
Micah looked into his rearview mirror as they turned out of the driveway and realized that Charlotte was already sound asleep. Beryl glanced over her shoulder. “Somebody’s tired,” she said with a smile. “She was so good helping you carry those small boxes across the yard.”
Micah nodded. “She loves to help—she’s just like her mom.” He shook his head sadly, remembering. “Beth was always ready to help; she’d do anything for anyone. And now, whenever I’m working on a project, Charlotte’s right there, ready to help too. It doesn’t matter what it is—raking leaves, shoveling snow, building a birdhouse—she even has her own pint-size rake, shovel, and hammer. She’s too funny!” He paused and glanced at Beryl. “This will probably sound crazy, but sometimes I think Beth is guiding her, helping her look after me.”
Beryl smiled. “I don’t think it’s crazy, Micah,” she said softly. “Ever since my mom died, it feels like she’s closer than ever.”
Micah nodded slowly. “I know what you mean. Sometimes, out of the blue, I’m filled with this funny, comforting warmth that I can’t explain.” He paused. “And other times, when I’m trying to make a decision, I’ll have a sudden strong conviction when, previously, I was pretty uncertain. It’s almost like—if we’re receptive—we can truly sense the presence of someone’s spirit.” He paused. “I also think little kids sense it the most. They’re open to anything, so they naturally—and without question—can feel a loved one’s presence.”
“I agree,” Beryl said. “Little kids are amazing.”
Micah nodded and they were quiet for a while. Finally, Beryl broke the silence. “I can’t thank you enough for doing all this, Micah.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he replied with a slow smile.
“Oh, by the way, my dad mentioned that he was thinking of making a box for your mom’s ashes. He didn’t know what you had planned, but he said the urns they sell are kind of impersonal and he thought it would be nice to have something special. He said he has a nice piece of oak …”
“He would do that?!” Beryl asked in surprise.
Micah nodded.
“Well, we actually haven’t picked anything out yet. I guess we’ve just been avoiding thinking about it, but if your dad has time, that would be wonderful.”
“Okay, I’ll tell him. Actually, you can tell him because I was thinking that, after we drop this stuff off, we can swing past my parents’ house, drop Charlotte off, and borrow my dad’s lawn mower. Then while you’re getting another load ready, I can mow the lawn.” He smiled. “Charlotte thinks you live on a dandelion farm!”
Beryl laughed and shook her head. “You know, you—and your parents—are really going above and beyond, Micah. I’d love to thank your dad in person, and if you just let us borrow the mower, I’m sure one of us can mow.”
“Don’t be silly. You already have plenty to do and I’m happy to help. Besides, my dad’s mower can be a cramp—you have to know just where to kick it.”
Beryl laughed. “Well, you’ll just have to stay for supper again, which reminds me, can we stop at the store on our way back? Isak handed me a list when we were leaving.”
“Sure, but I don’t think anything can top last night’s supper; that ravioli was amazing.”
Beryl pulled the slip of paper from her pocket. “Let’s see—angel hair, asparagus, tomatoes—which we already have—olive oil, butter, garlic, fresh basil, fresh spinach, strawberries, sliced almonds, more wine—with a smiley face next to it—and vanilla ice cream—sounds like another pasta dish is in our future.”
“Sounds like you’re part Italian,” Micah said with a grin.
“How’d you know? My mom used to tell us we had olive oil running through our veins. Her maiden name was Gentile, and pasta was always on the menu in our house. She used to make the most amazing gravy.”
“Gravy?” Micah asked, looking puzzled.
Beryl smiled. “Spaghetti sauce.”
“Oh!”
“It’s an all-day event, though. I wish I had time. Maybe someday, when things settle down, I’ll make it for you.”
Micah pulled into the parking lot of the thrift store and smiled. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
“Okay,” Beryl laughed. “It’s the least I can do!”
The ladies who were manning the thrift store that afternoon tried valiantly to hide their dismay when they saw all the boxes coming through their front door at closing time, and Mrs. Harrison—who Micah and Beryl had both had for kindergarten, and who looked the same as she had back then—didn’t seem to recognize them, but mustered a bright smile and asked them if they’d like a receipt.
“No, no thank you,” Beryl replied. “That’s not necessary.”
“Well, thank you very much, then,” Mrs. Harrison said cheerily.
“Until what time are you open?” Beryl asked.
“We’re open until four—but we’re closed on Tuesdays.”
Beryl’s face dropped. “Oh, okay,” she replied. “Well, thank you. Maybe we’ll see you on Wednesday.”
Mrs. Harrison squinted, studying Beryl’s face. “Aren’t you one of Mia Graham’s daughters?” Beryl nodded and the gray-haired lady smiled sadly. “I’m so sorry to hear about your mother, dear—she was a sweet, sweet lady.”
Beryl nodded again. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
As they got back in the car, tears spilled down Beryl’s cheeks. “I’m so not ready for this,” she whispered.
Micah reached his arm around her. “Nobody’s ever ready, Ber—all you can do is take one day at a time.”
Beryl nodded and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry, I seem to cry at the drop of a hat these days.”
“Don’t be sorry. I know how it is,” Micah commiserated.
“I know you do,” Beryl said, wiping her eyes. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”
“We are,” he whispered, pulling her closer.
Ten minutes later, they turned into the driveway of one of the most beautifully restored Victorians in town, and Micah gently unhooked Charlotte’s car seat and lifted her out.
“Hi,” Maddie Coleman called as she came out onto the porch, drying her hands with a dish towel.
“Hi, Mrs. Coleman,” Beryl said with a wave.
“Is Dad here?” Micah asked as he handed Charlotte, still sound asleep, to his mom.
Maddie nodded. “He’s puttering around out back somewhere.”
“I was hoping to borrow your mower.”
“I’m sure you can.”
Micah raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Also, do you think you can look after Charlotte again tonight?”
“I think I can manage that, hon,” she said, winking at Beryl.
“Thanks,” he said with a grin, kissing her cheek.
Beryl followed Micah around the house and they found Asa cleaning out bluebird houses. Nosing along beside him was Harper, who bounded over happily when she saw them. Beryl also noticed four little Bantam hens and a rooster pecking around at Mr. Coleman’s feet; they seemed completely uninhibited by the big black dog racing around the yard. Asa looked up and smiled. “Where’s my little helper?”
“Asleep,” Micah said, scratching Harper’s head. “Dad, I was wondering if I could borrow the mower to mow Beryl’s mom’s place?”
“Sure, but you’ll have to get gas.”
As Micah walked toward the shed, a bluebird landed on one of the houses. “Guess he knows you’re getting his house ready for him,” Micah observed with a smile.
“There’ve been a couple of pairs around, so I thought I’d better get out here. The problem is the damn wrens fill all the houses with sticks as soon as I empty them—just to keep out other tenants.”
Beryl shook her head. “It’s too bad some birds are like that. My mom had a bluebird house and she had the same pair come every year.”
Asa nodded. “They’ll do that; sometimes they even have more than one brood in a season. Speaking of which, would you like some fresh eggs?” He motioned to a basket full of brown speckled eggs on the steps. “These little ladies bless us with more than we can ever possibly eat.”
“Yes, I’d love some.”
He retrieved an empty egg carton from the garage, filled it, and handed it to Beryl. “Thanks!” she said. “Oh! And Micah was telling me about your idea, Mr. Coleman—are you sure you have time to do something like that?”
“I would be honored,” he said solemnly.
“Well, it’s very thoughtful. We would certainly appreciate it.”
“Good!” he said with a smile. “I have some beautiful wood that came from an old oak tree that fell down over at MacDowell Colony. They said it crushed one of the cabins—and when they were milling it into boards, they hit several bullets that they think are from the Revolution.”
Beryl stared in wonder. “That sounds perfect,” she said. “Thank you.”
She saw Micah pushing the lawn mower toward the car with one hand while carrying the gas can with the other. “I guess I better help! Thank you, Mr. Coleman.”
“Good luck with that pesky mower!” he called.
As they drove back to the house, Beryl was quiet and Micah looked over. “A penny for your thoughts …”
She smiled. “My mom used to say that.” She paused, reflecting on the news his dad had shared—news that wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else. “Did your dad tell you where the oak came from?”
“No.”
“It’s from an old oak tree that was on the MacDowell property.”
Micah looked puzzled. “I’m sure there’re lots of oak trees on that property.”
“He said this one crushed one of the cabins.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Well, the odd thing is, we found a memo
ir, of sorts, that my mom wrote and we started reading it, and in it she mentions an old oak tree that was beside one of the cabins. She said it was old enough to have seen the Revolutionary War.”
“I wonder if it’s the same one.”
“Your dad said it had bullets in it,” Beryl said. “It’s unbelievable if it is. I was actually hoping you’d have a chance to look at the memoir before supper—since you know so much about David Gilead,” Beryl said as they pulled into the driveway.
“I’d like to,” Micah replied. “I still can’t believe your mom knew him.”
“Well, we didn’t get very far. I wanted to keep reading it last night, but it got late and my sisters’ phones kept ringing. Later, though, we’re going to read more—so you should stay …”
“I’d like to.”
19
Suppertime had always been an event at the Graham house and, from a very young age, the girls understood it was a time for family fellowship and renewal—a time to catch up after a long day apart—and from preparation to cleanup, everyone pitched in, unless someone was mercilessly buried in homework. And now, although Mia was dearly missed, her girls were determined to keep the tradition.
“Finally!” Isak said when Beryl came in with two green bags over her shoulders and a bottle of wine tucked under each arm.
“Did you get lost?” Rumer teased. “We were going to start on Mum’s room, but we decided we couldn’t do it without you.”
“You could do it without me.”
“No, we couldn’t—there’s too much jewelry and too many sentimental things. We need to agree on what should be donated, and the rest will have to be divided up somehow,” Isak said, leaving little room for dispute.
“Well, there’s no hurry—the thrift store is closed tomorrow,” Beryl reported, unpacking the bags.
“Shh-ugar!” Isak said with a frown. “That’ll set us back.”
“It doesn’t have to,” Rumer offered. “We need to get more boxes anyway.”
“Oh, you should’ve reminded me,” Beryl said. “We were just at the store.”
Outside the window, the lawn mower sputtered to life, and Isak and Rumer looked up in surprise.
