More Than Words Can Say

by Robert Barclay

  Chelsea and Brandon exited the Explorer and began walking toward one of the larger marble headstones. Someone—presumably Adam or Lucy—had recently placed a pot of fresh, multicolored geraniums on the ground before it. The gravestone read:

  Brooke E. Bartlett

  RIP

  And being loved by another is the most precious gift of all.

  1917–1999

  With tears in her eyes, Chelsea stepped closer. She was about to open her purse when she felt Brandon silently tugging on her elbow.

  She looked questioningly him. “What is it?” she asked.

  As Brandon pointed at the headstone lying on the right side of Brooke’s, Chelsea drew a quick breath. It read:

  Gregory R. Butler

  RIP

  All the love I had, I gave to you . . .

  1916–1994

  Stunned, Chelsea wiped her eyes. My God, she thought. So it was here that Greg was laid to rest . . .

  Brandon put one arm around Chelsea’s shoulder. “You didn’t know?” he asked.

  For the moment, Chelsea could only shake her head.

  “But you were here at Brooke’s burial,” Brandon said. “And Greg was interred here before she was.”

  At last, Chelsea found her voice. “That’s true,” she said. “And I probably noticed Greg’s headstone at the time. But his name meant nothing to me then, so I didn’t remember it.”

  Chelsea closed her eyes for a few moments, thinking. “Until today,” she said, “I never understood the inscription that Brooke selected for her stone. Clearly, it’s an extension of Greg’s. They truly loved each other, didn’t they?”

  “Yes . . . ,” Brandon answered. Just then the wind rose a bit, scattering some early fallen leaves across the ground.

  “Before she died, she must have known he was here,” he said at last.

  “Yes,” Chelsea answered. “I can see that now. But how did Greg know that this was where Brooke would be buried? At the time of his interment, Gram had already bought her plot, but her headstone had yet to be laid.”

  “There are ways,” Brandon answered.

  Chelsea stood there for a time, looking at the two monuments. Although they were little more than lifeless pieces of carved stone, they had nonetheless accomplished what the two human beings they honored could not do. They had at last reunited two lovers whose single night of passion had separated them for decades. Then Chelsea remembered something that Emily Rousseau had told her, the first time she had visited the Blue Rooster.

  “Rather than parting two old friends,” Emily had said, “the death of one has a way of joining them forever . . .”

  Taking Brandon by one arm, Chelsea escorted him closer to the graves. She then opened her purse and removed a tissue. Brandon thought that she was about to wipe her eyes, but he soon knew better. Inside Chelsea’s tissue lay the two dried coneflowers that Brooke had picked from Greg’s garden, just before leaving Lake Evergreen for the last time. The same two flowers that Brooke had left at Emily’s doorstep and that Emily had in turn given to Chelsea, pressed inside Brooke’s copy of Leaves of Grass.

  “So you brought them with you,” Brandon said quietly.

  “Yes,” Chelsea answered, her voice a near-whisper. “I felt that they belonged here with Brooke. But now, I can give one of them to Greg.”

  With the two old flowers still lying in her hands, Chelsea looked at Brooke’s headstone.

  “You asked me in your letter if I could forgive you, Gram,” she said. “But there was no need, because there is nothing to forgive. Love is something that each of us strives for, dreams of, clings to, and rejoices in. But who among us can claim to be its master? No, Gram. Love itself is the true master. And we are all powerless in its grasp, just as you were during your last days at Lake Evergreen.”

  Pausing for a moment, Chelsea wiped her eyes.

  “And so, if you can hear me, let your heart be freed at last,” she said. “And also know that what I now do, I do in memory of the love you and Greg had for one another.”

  Stepping forward, with a shaking hand Chelsea first placed one of the fragile coneflowers atop Brooke’s headstone and then set the other one on Greg’s stone. Backing up, she took Brandon’s hand and held it tight.

  Almost at once the breeze strengthened noticeably, lifting both coneflowers free of their headstones and comingling them. Twirling and climbing ever higher in the strengthening breeze, at last they broke apart, turned to dust, and were forever gone.

  Still shaking slightly, Chelsea looked into Brandon’s eyes.

  “Do you think she heard me?” she asked, barely able to get the words out.

  Brandon nodded. “And so did he,” he answered.

  “Take me home again, Brandon,” Chelsea said softly.

  “Back to Lucy’s house?” he asked.

  Chelsea shook her head.

  “No,” she answered. “Take me back to Lake Evergreen. That’s my home now . . .”

  Remaining arm in arm, they turned and began the walk back to the car.

  Chapter 35

  I do!”

  Not only did Chelsea Enright say those words with enthusiasm, she meant them.

  “In that case, I now pronounce you man and wife!” Father Randall said. He was a tall, broad man with a thick shock of white hair and had been Chelsea’s priest since her confirmation.

  “And you may now kiss the bride!” he said to Brandon with a wink.

  Brandon smiled and gently lifted Chelsea’s veil. Throwing caution to the wind, he bent her back deeply beneath him and then kissed her long and hard on the lips. When at last he swung her upright again, she laughed joyously and then turned to look out over the many rows of happy guests.

  It was a crystal-clear late October afternoon in Syracuse. Brandon had asked for her hand one month ago, and Chelsea had immediately accepted. And now that they were married, they were quite possibly the two happiest people on the face of the earth.

  Chelsea again looked joyously out over the crowd. Her parents and extended family were in the front row. One of Chelsea’s dearest college girlfriends had served as her maid of honor, and one of Brandon’s ranger buddies was his best man. Jenny Beauregard sat in the next row back, crying tears of joy. Jacques and Margot Fabienne were two rows behind Chelsea’s parents, while Brandon’s parents and extended family sat on the other side of the aisle.

  To Chelsea’s amusement not only was Margot crying, but so too was the ever stalwart Jacques. And Emily Rousseau had ridden down with the Fabiennes, insisting that she could never forgive herself if she missed the wedding of Brooke’s only granddaughter. Even Dolly and Jeeves were in attendance, the two of them sitting obediently near one side of the altar. Jeeves wore a black bow tie around his neck, and Dolly wore a white lace scarf.

  Chelsea pulled Brandon close and placed her lips to his ear. “We did it, my love,” she said.

  Brandon smiled back. “Yes, we did,” he answered her.

  “And now you have to tell me what it means,” she said. “There’s no getting out of it this time . . .”

  Brandon gave her a quizzical look. “Tell you what . . . ?” he asked.

  Chelsea laughed a little, then she gently poked the end of his nose. “Oh, how quickly men forget,” she answered. Leaving him to ponder the mystery, she turned back toward the joyous crowd.

  When at last they left the altar and began the walk back down the aisle, Brandon let go a sharp whistle, causing Dolly and Jeeves to immediately run and join them. As they exited the church, showers of confetti soon filled the air, so much so that some passersby actually began wondering if Syracuse was receiving an early snowfall. Soon after, everyone was on their way to the wedding reception.

  The affair took place at Adam’s country club, and although Chelsea had protested about the great cost and bother, Adam stubbornly held his ground. He was a well-respected businessman in town, he had argued, and the venue needed to be right. And besides, he only had one daughter to give away.
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  It was a lovely event with mountains of food and drink, a wonderful band, and an immense wedding cake that looked as if it could have fed twice as many people as the happy throng in attendance. Jacques became quite tipsy on red wine and insisted on singing two songs in his native French. Not to be outdone, Brandon joined him. And as luck would have it, Jenny Beauregard caught Chelsea’s bouquet. At last, it was time for Chelsea and Brandon to go. As they made their way to the car, many well-wishers followed them out.

  Just then Allistaire Reynolds made his way toward them. As he approached the newlyweds, he smiled. He looked at Chelsea admiringly, then he gave Brandon a firm handshake.

  “You’re a lucky man,” he said. “Should the two of you need anything else, you know where I am. And the best of luck with everything.” After Brandon thanked him, Chelsea gave Allistaire a kiss on the cheek that actually made him blush.

  Just before Chelsea entered the car, she felt someone touch her arm. She turned to see her mother and father standing there, their eyes filled with tears. Chelsea immediately stopped and embraced each of them once more. As she did, Adam searched her eyes.

  “Are you quite sure?” he asked. “Now that you’ve quit teaching, you could easily come and work for me, you know.” Then he smiled a little, remembering. “I’m still immensely willing to assign you absolutely no responsibilities and grossly overpay you for completely ignoring them.”

  Chelsea laughed. And then, upon seeing the wistful combination of both happiness and sadness in her father’s eyes, she reached out one white-gloved hand and touched his cheek.

  “You know that I can’t . . . ,” she said. “My path is set now.”

  Adam smiled through his tears. “And are the two of you quite certain that you don’t want a honeymoon?” he asked. “Lucy and I are very willing to send you anywhere you’d like to go.”

  “I understand that, Dad,” Chelsea answered. “And we do thank you. But you know that we can’t right now.” Then she saw another disappointed look overcome Adam’s face, and she smiled.

  “I’ll you what, though,” she added conspiratorially. “Once we get things settled, we’ll gladly accept a belated honeymoon that’ll send you and Mom straight to the poorhouse!”

  At last, Adam’s face lit up. “I’m going to hold you to that, kiddo,” he said.

  Then Chelsea took her mother into her arms again. Like so many others in the crowd, Lucy was crying tears of happiness. “Are you going to be okay?” Chelsea asked.

  Now whenever Lucy smiled, it seemed to come straight from her heart. This was going to take some getting used to, Chelsea happily realized. Lucy reached out and touched her only daughter’s cheek.

  “Yes, my darling,” she said. “I’m going to be fine. Perhaps better than I’ve ever been. Now go, the two of you, and have a wonderful life.”

  At last, with both dogs loaded into the same Explorer that Chelsea had driven on her first trip to Lake Evergreen, Chelsea and Brandon waved their final good-byes and closed the doors. The Explorer was now theirs, a wedding present from Adam. And true to form, Adam had believed that he should have the final word about it. To that end, one of his dealership body shops had mercilessly decorated the entire vehicle with enough paper flowers, streamers, and shoe polish to decorate ten such “going away” vehicles. With a final honk of the horn, Brandon pulled the Explorer away from the curb.

  As they left the country club, Chelsea turned around to look. For a time she saw a gaggle of hands waving happily in the air, and then they were gone. She edged a bit closer to Brandon and laid her head on his shoulder.

  “Happy?” he asked.

  “Yes . . . ,” she answered quietly. “More so than at any time in my life.” Then she smiled to herself a little. “I’m now Mrs. Chelsea Yale, and you’d better not forget it, buster.”

  Brandon laughed. “With you and Dolly hanging around all the time, there’ll be little chance of that!”

  Chelsea snuggled a bit closer. “And now, kind sir, you are obligated to tell me what it means . . .”

  Brandon snorted out a short laugh. “What what means?” he asked.

  “That saying in French,” Chelsea answered. “You know, the one you mentioned that night when you finally told me about Mallory. You also said that it was something that you heard Jacques once say to Margot. After you said it in French I asked you what it meant, but you insisted that you weren’t ready to tell me. I can only hope that you’re ready now.”

  Brandon nodded, remembering. He had in fact meant those words that night. And yes, he was at last ready for Chelsea to hear them.

  “Réticence entre deux amants peut souvent causer la mort de leur ardeur,” Brandon said. “Et donc, mon amour, peut-être cette erreur jamais subir nous. Pour plutôt que s’exprime dans les chuchotements, son amour devrait être cria joyeusement de sommets.”

  Chelsea turned her head and looked lovingly at her new husband.

  “And what does it mean?” she asked.

  “ ‘Reticence between two lovers can often cause the death of their ardor,’ ” Brandon said. “ ‘And so, my love, may that mistake never befall us. For rather than being expressed in whispers, one’s love should be shouted joyously from the mountaintops.’ ”

  As she remembered that wonderful day with Brandon atop Red Rock Mountain, Chelsea smiled and edged a bit closer to him.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” she said.

  Chapter 36

  Two days later, it was a cold morning in Serendipity. The sky was still dark and the streetlights remained on, causing the parking meters to cast eerie specters across the concrete sidewalks as Brandon and Chelsea rode along in Brandon’s Jeep. Chelsea sat quietly beside Brandon, clutching a plastic zip bag and shivering a bit.

  Brandon smiled and handed Chelsea the thermos full of hot coffee he had prepared before leaving.

  “Have some of this,” he said. “It’ll help warm your bones. And besides,” he added with a grin, “you’ve got a big day ahead of you. You’ll need to be caffeinated.”

  Chelsea poured a cup of coffee and took an appreciative sip. Her new husband made the best coffee she had ever tasted. As she breathed, the air leaving her lungs formed telltale little clouds that disappeared as quickly as they came.

  “Is that medical advice, Dr. Yale?” she asked.

  “Nope,” he answered. “Just common sense. In case you haven’t already noticed, we’re big on that up here.”

  As she watched Serendipity pass by in the early-morning darkness, Chelsea took another sip of coffee. Brandon was right, she realized. This was going to be a big day, and she knew it. Her only hope was that it would all work out.

  A few minutes later, Brandon double-parked the Jeep and left the motor running. “It’s going to be all right,” he said. Then he pulled her closer and gave her a kiss. “You’ve done the right thing, I just know it.”

  Once more, Chelsea glanced tentatively outside. The darkness still seemed ominous, causing her to wish that the sun would soon rise. “I hope you’re right . . . ,” she said softly.

  “Of course I am,” Brandon answered. “But you’d best get going. I’m off today, and I’ll be back at four to pick you up, just like we planned.”

  “Okay . . . ,” she said.

  After giving Brandon another kiss good-bye, she opened the door and got out. As the Jeep disappeared down the dark street, Chelsea suddenly had another moment of uncertainty about her decision. But there was no going back now, and she knew it. While taking a deep breath, she removed a set of keys from her purse, unlocked the door before her, and stepped inside.

  Save for having no customers yet, the Blue Rooster looked exactly like it did the first time Brandon had brought Chelsea there. The shiny, black and white checkerboard floor was spotless, and the booths of dark leather lining either side wall still sported gleaming brass rails atop all their seat backs. Wrought iron tables for four with their white lace tablecloths took up the remaining floor space, and the European-style frost
ed globes that hung from the high ceiling were burning brightly. Then Chelsea smiled a bit through her worry as she again remembered how much this wonderful little place reminded her of a true French café.

  Still clutching her plastic bag, Chelsea walked across the dining room floor and toward the kitchen that lay at the far end of the room. As she neared she heard voices, again causing her to smile through her trepidation.

  They’re already here . . . , she realized.

  Pushing open the swinging kitchen doors, Chelsea walked in. The kitchen was like a welcome, comforting world that easily belied the chilly weather outside.

  As if her advanced age meant nothing, Emily Rousseau was hard at work preparing some sauce or another. Jean, the French-Canadian chef who had worked for Emily for decades, busied himself with loading some vegetables and chicken parts into a stew pot. The wonderful aroma of fresh baked goods already hung in the air, as did the enticing scent of freshly made coffee. The four uniformed waitresses were also there, chatting among themselves as they loaded service onto trays for the dining room. Just then Chelsea smelled an intriguing aroma, and she smiled.

  It’s the beginnings of coq au vin, she thought. Just like my first day at Lake Evergreen, when Jacques and Margot brought some to me. . .

  Emily was the first to see Chelsea. Throwing her hands into the air, she rushed straight over and hugged her warmly.

  “Good morning, my dear!” she said in French. “I am so glad that you’re here at last!”

  Chelsea smiled broadly. “Now, Emily,” she said, “you know that over time I’m hoping to learn French from you! But until I get acclimated to working here, you have to oblige me and speak only English! It’s already bad enough that I’ve never done this sort of thing before . . .”

  “Do not worry, ma chère!” Emily said insistently. “Everything will be just fine! You’ll see!”

  Then Emily smiled wryly.

  “And besides,” she added, “you are my boss now, n’est-ce pas? So I must do as you say!”

  As if she still couldn’t believe it, Chelsea looked around the kitchen again. It’s true, after all, she thought. I really do own the Blue Rooster. . .