More Than Words Can Say

by Robert Barclay

  “As best I know,” she said.

  “All right,” Allistaire answered. “But I must tell you that all of this is unusual, to say the least. Are you sure that you wouldn’t like to tell me what’s really going on?”

  Chelsea shook her head. “No, Allistaire,” she answered. “One day, perhaps. But not now.”

  “Very well, then,” Allistaire said.

  He opened a desk drawer and produced a manila envelope. With shaking hands, Chelsea accepted it from Allistaire. Before opening it, she looked over at Brandon and he nodded.

  Chelsea opened the envelope and found a smaller one inside, which was addressed to Chelsea in Brooke’s familiar handwriting. Chelsea opened the second envelope to find another letter from Brooke. It too had been written in her grandmother’s familiar black fountain ink. But this time, the aged handwriting was more difficult to read:

  Thursday, February 22, 1994, 4:00 P.M.

  Dearest Chelsea,

  Hello again, my child. I fully understand that this second letter comes as a shock, but it was necessary. I have written this to you and entrusted it to Allistaire’s care because now that you have been to Lake Evergreen and have read my journal, and seen the photographs and the telegrams, you know my story. And I also write this because as you will soon learn, I have two further wishes to ask of you.

  I sense that my time left on this earth is growing short, and so I wanted to write this letter now, to ensure that it is placed into Allistaire’s safekeeping before something irreversible happens to me. As I write this I am sitting in my wheelchair, on the sunporch of your mother’s house. It is a lovely winter’s day with crisp, white snow on the ground and crystalline icicles hanging from the eves. As much as I like being here, I cannot help but wish that I could see my beloved cabin just one more time . . .

  By now, many of your questions have been answered. But there are some things that you still do not know. As the journal says, for sentimental reasons I did indeed pick two coneflowers from Greg’s garden on the morning that I left Lake Evergreen. But on the way home I realized that I could not keep them, for the same reasons that I could not bring with me the journal or the photographs. And so I stopped at a friend’s place and I left them on her steps, pressed inside the book that Greg gave to me that day atop Red Rock Mountain. My friend’s name was Emily Rousseau, and she still owns and runs a small Serendipity restaurant called the Blue Rooster. Should you decide to keep the cottage, you may wish to visit her one day.

  You now also know why I left the cabin so suddenly and why I never returned. Nor could I sell it, because the new owners might have discovered the tin box that I had hidden and what lay inside it. I willed the cottage to you, rather than to your mother, because of the two of you, Lucy is the far more fragile, brittle, and unforgiving one. Because she never expressed any interest in the cottage, had I willed it to her, she would have likely sold it. And as I have said, I couldn’t allow that to happen. And so, my child, I made it yours. I cannot know whether you have decided to sell it or to keep it, or whether your visit there has granted you any additional happiness. Either way, I hope that you will keep the cottage. But should you choose to sell, in this too you have my blessing.

  You are probably now also aware of why I took up painting after I left Lake Evergreen for good. If you assume that it was a way of staying “close” to Greg, then you are right. At first I thought that I would simply try it and soon find that I had no talent for it. But to my surprise, I was wrong. And although my humble paintings will never make their mark on the world of art history, I nonetheless enjoyed creating them. But perhaps the very best thing that came out of my growing passion for painting was that you came to love doing it too, and because of that we were able to spend so many happy hours together, as I taught you. I also like to think that Greg’s unfinished portrait of me still rests atop the fireplace mantel, rather than your having disposed of it in anger. But if the latter is true, then please know that I understand.

  As for the journal, the photos, and the two telegrams, they too are yours to do with as you wish. And should you choose to tell my story to Lucy, you also have my blessing. I know that deciding whether to tell her will be a great quandary for you, and for that I am truly sorry. I cannot offer any advice in that regard, save to say that should you do so, it must be done in the gentlest possible way.

  And now for the greatest of all the questions, the one that I’m sure you have already imagined but to which you have no answer. The simple truth is that I cannot tell you which of the two men I loved that summer was your grandfather. Because of the short period of time in between, I learned I was pregnant only after being with both of them. For my own selfish reasons, I always chose to believe that Bill was that man. But the truth of it is that I had never had any right to do so, and I suppose I chose that way of thinking only to ameliorate my guilt over what happened between Greg and me . . . What I did was wrong, I know, and I hope that you can forgive me.

  And that, my child, is how I want to go to my final rest. Yes, I loved two men at once, but as I said in my journal, I am still unsure whether a woman can do that without going mad. And oddly enough, knowing which of them fathered Lucy might have perhaps confounded me even more. In the farewell letter I wrote to Greg, I asked that he never try to contact me. And although I can only guess at how much it must have hurt him to grant my wish, he complied, just the same.

  In closing, I would make two more requests of you, one of which is conditional upon the other, but neither of which you are obligated to carry out. The first one is I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I know that doing so will be difficult, and that is why I wanted you to read the journal and to see the photographs, rather than simply read another letter from me that told the same story. I hope that you were able to live my story through my words, to feel what I was going through, and to understand that—wrong as it might have been—I did in fact love them both. I realize that I have in some ways left you in limbo, and for that I am truly sorry.

  And there is one last thing that I would ask. If you are in fact able to forgive me, would you please revisit my grave and tell me so? I fully understand that I will never know of your decision, but if you can find enough forgiveness in your heart, please do as I ask.

  This will be my last communication with you, Chelsea. No more letters, journal pages, or photographs. It is now time for you to chart the rest of your own life’s course. I did the best that I could to let someone in our family know the truth about what happened to me during those fateful wartime days, and the one I chose to tell was you. Because, my dear, of all of us, yours is the best, the most receiving, and the most forgiving heart. Stay safe, my child, be well, and may you one day find all the happiness that you rightfully deserve.

  All my love,

  Brooke

  Her eyes brimming over with tears, Chelsea handed the letter to Brandon. By the time he had finished reading it, his eyes had also become shiny. Then he simply nodded at Chelsea and handed the precious letter back to her.

  Recognizing their distress, Allistaire tactfully cleared his throat. “I hope that it wasn’t too disturbing . . . ,” he said.

  Chelsea shook her head. “No,” she answered, “at least not in the way that you probably mean.”

  “And I don’t suppose that there’s any point in my asking to read it?” he inquired.

  Again Chelsea shook her head. “No,” she answered softly.

  “Then our business is concluded?” Allistaire asked.

  Before answering, Chelsea looked over at Brandon. When he nodded back at her she felt her heart swell again, just as it had when she first realized she was falling in love with him. So be it then, she thought. Her tears at last starting to subside, she took a deep breath and looked back at Allistaire.

  “As a matter of fact,” she said, “there is something more that you could do on behalf of us both, and we’d like you to get started on it right away. You see, Brandon and I . . .”

 
; As Chelsea made her explanation to Allistaire, he listened quietly. And then, when she had finished, he looked at Brandon again and he smiled.

  Lucky fellow, indeed . . . , he thought once more.

  Chapter 33

  So, Brandon,” Adam Enright said, “what gauge shotgun do you use up there for birds? A twelve, I assume?”

  Brandon nodded and set down his beer glass. “Yes, that’s right,” he answered. “Especially for grouse. You need the extra firepower to blast through the leaves and such. And you need a good gun dog.”

  “And is your setter good?” Adam asked.

  Brandon smiled. “The best,” he said. “Sometimes I think that Jeeves can suss out a bird from a mile away.”

  Adam laughed. He was warming up to Brandon, and it showed. “Jeeves!” he said, laughing again. “Christ, but I like that name for a dog! I’m gonna remember that, next time I get a pup.”

  After taking another sip of wine, Chelsea sat back in her poolside lounge chair and lovingly regarded her parents. Once she and Brandon had left Allistaire’s office, she had called Lucy and then Adam, asking if they could do a midafternoon barbecue rather than dinner. Adam had happily agreed, offering to pick up everything they’d need on the way over to Lucy’s house. The rib eye steaks, corn on the cob, and cherry pie had all been delicious.

  Chelsea had not, however, revealed the real reason why she and Brandon had asked to see Lucy and Adam earlier than planned. The truth was that she wanted plenty of time to revisit Brooke’s grave, as Brooke had requested in her final letter. And that, she had wisely decided, was something best left unsaid. The only person she wanted to accompany her to the grave site was Brandon; of that she was abundantly sure.

  As the sun slowly crossed the sky and the wind lightly rippled the swimming pool water, Brandon sat by Chelsea’s side at the poolside table. Adam sat across from them, happily nursing a Manhattan and smoking a cigar. Lucy sat beside Adam, diddling with her coffee spoon. Lucy had been rather nervous, and aside from the recent loss of her mother, Chelsea knew why. It wasn’t every day that Chelsea presented her not only with a new love interest but also with one about whom she cared so deeply.

  Chelsea had known that bringing Brandon along would likely set Lucy’s nerves jangling, but that couldn’t be avoided. Chelsea also guessed that her decision to remain at Lake Evergreen for the entire summer had caused her mother anguish. Lucy had been making a good show of liking Brandon, and perhaps she genuinely did. But with Lucy it was always hard to tell. Chelsea instinctively also knew that Lucy considered Brandon to be the greatest reason why Chelsea had stayed at Lake Evergreen, and to Lucy’s credit she was right. And that would make it more difficult for Lucy to fully accept him, if indeed she ever could.

  For his part, Adam liked Brandon the moment he met him. Adam had appreciated the attitude of respect that Brandon exhibited on entering the house and while meeting him and Lucy. That Brandon was a doctor also carried a good deal of weight, Chelsea realized. But the true tipping point had come when Adam learned that Brandon not only hunted and fished but that he also had a deep love for gun dogs. When Brandon told Adam that Jeeves could fetch beers from his refrigerator, Adam had nearly fallen down laughing and then begged Brandon to one day teach his dogs, too.

  On the way into Syracuse that morning, Chelsea had told Brandon how her parents would likely act, and she had been right. Her father would be jovial, kind, and welcoming. But Lucy would be brittle, nervous, and more concerned with her own feelings than with actually seeing her daughter again. Chelsea knew full well that with both Brooke and Adam gone from the house, Lucy felt immensely alone. And now that Chelsea had decided to spend the rest of her summer at Lake Evergreen, Lucy had no familial shoulder left upon which to cry, making her sense of isolation finally complete.

  Lucy had many friends in whom she could supposedly confide, but Chelsea had always wondered whether they were really the sort to whom her mother could reveal her inner heart. And now, after having been away for weeks, Chelsea believed she had her answer. Despite her many so-called friends, Lucy had only been able to confide in her immediate family, and especially in her mother. And with everyone now gone, Lucy was a lost soul.

  Chelsea loved her mother; of that there was no question. But the longer she spent in this house, the more Chelsea understood that going to Lake Evergreen had been the best thing that she could have done—perhaps for both of them.

  “And how is that old cottage, really?” Lucy asked. “I can’t imagine it being very nice or why you’d actually want to keep it. I must say, you’ve rather surprised us.”

  Chelsea took another sip of wine. “The place surprised me too, Mom,” she answered. “Actually, it’s quite charming. And as for why I’ve decided to stay there all summer, well, the most important answer to that is this man sitting right here beside me.”

  Lucy immediately realized her gaffe, and it showed on her face. “Well, of course, dear,” she said. “I didn’t mean to imply that . . . uh, well . . . you know what I mean . . .”

  Chelsea might have pursued that last remark, but to what end? She and Brandon could have just as easily met with Allistaire, then visited Brooke’s grave and returned to the lake with her parents none the wiser. But Chelsea had wanted to see how her mother was doing. And sadly, she had gotten her answer. She had also wanted to take the opportunity for them to meet Brandon, and that part of the visit, at least, had been accomplished.

  Adam gave Brandon a knowing wink. “What say us menfolk clean things up for a change and let the ladies chat?” he asked.

  Understanding Adam’s intent, Brandon agreed, and they started clearing the table. Chelsea knew that once the men were in the kitchen, Lucy would start in with her questions, and she didn’t disappoint.

  “Honestly, Chelsea,” Lucy said in a near-whisper, “are you quite sure about him? He seems intelligent and polite enough. And I understand that he went to Harvard. But at the end of the day, is he really anything more than a glorified country doctor? And where’s the wisdom in getting mixed up with the man in the neighboring cabin, for heaven’s sake? What if it all goes wrong? Then you’d have to sell the place—which, by the way, is still what I think you should do.”

  God, Chelsea thought. Did she really just say, “And where’s the wisdom in getting mixed up with the man in the neighboring cabin”? If she only knew the whole truth. And one day, will I be the person who tells her? Gram was right about confiding in Mother. But as of right now, only God knows how to do it . . .

  Remembering that her mother was still grieving, Chelsea did her best to smile. “I love him, Mom,” she answered simply. “And he loves me. In today’s world, that’s not an easy thing to find. And he’s more of a man than any of those country club snobs you’ve pushed at me over the years.”

  Lucy sighed. “We only want the best for you, dear,” she answered.

  With that, Chelsea stood, walked around the table, and kissed Lucy on one cheek. “Then be happy for me,” she answered. “Because after years of searching, that’s what I’ve got. I know it in my heart, just as sure as I know the sun will rise tomorrow morning.”

  As if Lucy had been secretly waiting to hear those exact words, her expression quickly changed to one of compassion. Then she did something that surprised even Chelsea. She stood, held her daughter close, and looked lovingly into her eyes.

  “The heart wants what it wants,” Lucy said, unconsciously echoing Chelsea’s words to Brandon of several nights ago. “I once felt the same way about your father, before it all fell apart for us. I know that I’ve been difficult today, and I’m sorry about that. I also know that I was hard on you about Brandon just now—far harder than I needed to be. But can’t you see? I did it on purpose, Chelsea. I had to be sure that it is he who is keeping you up at the lake, rather than me, driving you away from here. And now that I know you’re truly in love with him, then I can love him, too.”

  Then Lucy stood back from Chelsea, and she smiled.

  �
�After all,” she added, “I might be getting old, but I still know a good man when I see one.”

  As Chelsea became unexpectedly overcome, her eyes began to well up. Until this moment, Lucy had never communicated with her so deeply or so honestly. She had been wrong about her mother today, she realized, and Lucy had fooled her. Her mother was in fact starting to heal. While smiling through her tears, Chelsea laughed a little.

  “I love you, Mom,” she whispered.

  “And I love you too,” Lucy answered.

  At last . . . , Chelsea thought. And thank you, Mother . . .

  But then Chelsea thought a bit more, and her worries crowded in on her again.

  But perhaps your sudden compassion has only made my decision harder, she thought. Will I decide to tell you everything one day, or will I not? And if I do, will my words only serve to again break your slowly healing heart?

  Chapter 34

  Chelsea had long believed that Fairlawn Cemetery was a lovely place. Always well-maintained and landscaped, it boasted an abundance of lovely trees, neatly trimmed hedges, and in the summertime a plethora of blooming flowers. After Brandon guided the Explorer through the open wrought iron gates and onto the property, Chelsea told him the directions to Brooke’s grave site.

  By now the sun was nearing the western horizon, and the cemetery birds had begun warbling their twilight lullabies. Shadows were slowly creeping from the bases of the monuments, their dark lengths stretching across the deep-green grass. Chelsea was glad that there were few visitors about just now, because she wanted her visit to be a very private one.

  After a few minutes more, Brandon stopped the Explorer before a neat row of about twenty headstones. The markers backed up to a tall hedge, and in between each of them there grew a lovely white peony bush. As Chelsea had hoped, no other visitors were nearby.