The Color of Heaven - 09 - The Color of Time

by Julianne MacLean

  “Great,” I replied. “Just what we need.” I sat down to pull on my sneakers and tie them.

  “Maybe it’ll weaken by the time it gets here,” Cassie suggested. “That happens sometimes and then all the weather people look foolish for making such a big deal out of it.”

  “Maybe,” Malcolm replied, “but I’m not going to bank on that. It looks like it’s gunnin’ for us, and don’t hurricanes usually gain strength over the water?”

  Gabe, drying his hands on a towel, appeared in the doorway to join us. “They’re talking about storm surges and that means really big waves on the coastline.” He pointed a finger at me. “You live right on the water, Sylvie, so you might want to stay in town tomorrow night.”

  “You can stay at my place,” Cassie offered.

  “Thank you,” I replied, “but I’ll probably stay with my grandmother. She lives alone. She’ll need help.”

  Later, when we got busy, customers talked of nothing else. They checked their phones constantly for updates and passed on the information to each other. They advised Cassie and me to go to the store as soon as we got off work to stock up on flashlights and batteries and drinking water in case there were power outages.

  “Don’t wait,” one man warned. “The shelves at Walmart will be cleaned out by tomorrow.”

  “This sounds pretty serious,” Cassie said to me later when we finished our shifts together. “Steve’s already at home taking apart the trampoline so it doesn’t blow into the neighbor’s yard and damage their greenhouse. Are you going to be okay at your place?”

  I untied my apron and hung it up in my locker. “I’ll be fine. I’ll store the lawn chairs under the veranda. Otherwise, there’s not much else I can do except lock up the house and hope for the best. At least it’s up on the hill, so it should be safe from the waves and flooding.” I grabbed my purse and closed my locker to face Cassie. “It won’t be the first hurricane that house has been through. It’s been standing strong in that spot since 1840. It’s built like a tank.”

  “You’re lucky,” she said. “I feel bad for all the people who built their houses at sea level.”

  “And all the people with boats,” I added as I slung my purse over my shoulder. “It must be pure chaos at the yacht clubs right now.”

  Chapter Forty-three

  September 7, 2015

  The severe weather warnings continued over the next twenty-four hours while the storm gained intensity on a direct path toward Cape Elizabeth. By sunset, the authorities reported that it had reached peak wind speeds of 110 mph not far off the coast, and was expected to make landfall by midnight, September 8. Populations in low-lying coastal areas were ordered to evacuate, and emergency workers prepared for a potential disaster.

  The waves throughout the day were monstrous, and as I secured the house and moved things away from the windows, I could hear the violent roar of the ocean as ten-foot foaming waves exploded onto the rocks.

  Later, when it was time to drive away from my seaside home with nothing but my suitcase, my laptop, Mrs. Foster’s valuable crystal stemware collection, and a box of photo albums in the back seat, I took one last look at the house in the rearview mirror and said, “Good luck, old house. Stand strong.”

  * * *

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Gram said as we sat in front of the television watching the news coverage and Gordon hid under a chair. It was past 10:00 and the winds were gusting hard outside, but the worst of the storm wasn’t due to hit until after midnight. “I would have been worried sick about you all alone in that big house on the Cape. It’s much safer inland.”

  My cell phone rang just then. When I picked it up, my heart seized in my chest. “It’s Chris,” I said, rising from the sofa. “I’m going to take it.”

  I reached the kitchen and swept the screen with my finger. “Hello?”

  “Hey,” he said in that hauntingly familiar voice, close in my ear, which caused my body to tingle all over with goosebumps. “I’ve been watching CNN. How are you doing out there?”

  I sank onto a chair. “We’re okay. It’s really nice to hear your voice.”

  “It’s nice to hear yours too,” he replied.

  We were both quiet for a moment and I had to work hard to keep control of my emotions and composure.

  “I tried calling your house but there was no answer there,” he said. “Are you at your grandmother’s?”

  “Yes. They evacuated all the coastal areas so I came here. We shouldn’t get any flooding this far inland, but I’m worried about trees falling and stuff like that.”

  A siren wailed from somewhere in the distance.

  “Just make sure you stay inside,” Chris said, “away from windows and glass doors. If it’s really bad, the best place to be is in a closet or a bathroom on the lower level.”

  “Thanks,” I replied. “Have you been talking to Jared? Is he okay?”

  “He got his boat out of the water,” Chris told me, “and took his family to one of the shelters. The kids are having a great time. It’s all a big adventure to them.”

  I chuckled softly. “As long as they’re in a safe place.” I waited a moment, then carefully asked, “How are you and Logan doing? Holding up okay?”

  Chris exhaled heavily. “We’re doing our best. Katelyn is still in the hospital so I’ve had to take a lot of time off work. My partners and patients have been really supportive, though. They’ve been sending lots of cards and well wishes.”

  “That’s nice to hear.” I swallowed uneasily and cleared my throat. “I’m sorry I haven’t called. I didn’t want to make things difficult for you, but I hope you know that I think about you all the time. I say prayers for all three of you every night.”

  “I appreciate that,” he softly replied. “And I think about you, too. I really miss you, Sylvie. I’m so sorry we couldn’t have…” He stopped himself at that.

  “Don’t apologize,” I said. “It’s fine, and I understand. Truly. I know it sounds cliché, but if there’s ever anything I can do…”

  Neither of us spoke for a long time, and a painful lump filled my throat like a jagged stone.

  “Listen,” Chris said, “stay safe tonight, okay? And will you send me a text in the morning when it’s over, just to let me know that you and your grandmother are all right?”

  “I will. Thanks for calling, Chris. Give Logan a hug for me, will you? Goodnight.”

  With that, I ended the call and sat for a moment waiting for my heartbeat to slow down.

  When I felt confident that I wasn’t going to burst into tears, I rose from my chair and returned to the living room where the meteorologists on TV were still tracking the storm with wild, ratings-seeking abandon.

  Gram stared at me with curiosity. “Is everything okay?”

  “It’s fine,” I replied, “but after hearing his voice just now, I feel like I’ll have to pick myself up and dust myself off all over again.”

  She patted the couch cushion beside her. “Come sit down. I’ll give you a hug.”

  Just then the power went out with a loud pop!

  Chapter Forty-four

  I switched on a flashlight and went to peer briefly out the front window. I lifted the curtain aside with one finger. “The whole neighborhood’s out.”

  It was impossible, now, to see the strength of the wind in the trees, for it was pitch black outside as well. But heaven knew we could hear it. Eighty-mile-per-hour winds howled over the rooftop and through the eaves like a ferocious beast. The window panes shook violently, and something was knocking repeatedly up against the side of the house. A loose shutter perhaps.

  Letting the curtain fall closed, I turned to face Gram and knew that neither of us would be able to go to sleep, even if we tried.

  “Interested in a game of cards?” I suggested.

  “Always.” She switched on another flashlight and the beam of light swung across the ceiling as she rose to her feet.

  We went into the dark kitchen, dragged the smal
l table away from the window and into the interior hall, where I lit a couple of candles while she shuffled the deck.

  * * *

  We finally decided, at midnight, to go to bed and try to get some sleep. The wind was gusting even harder by then and the sound was terrifying—like a roaring monster raging around Gram’s house.

  We had set up sleeping bags on the two sofas in the basement rec room just to be safe, so we carried our flashlights down—along with Gordon—and finally got into our sleeping bags. The wind continued to moan and shake the house, and we could hear the frightening sounds of things crashing around outside. We had no idea what was causing the clamor because it was too dark to see out, and we knew better than to go near a window. It sounded like chairs and tables being dropped across the deck, but I’d brought everything into the garage that morning.

  Suddenly, outside in the backyard, there was a loud, echoing crack!—like a small cannon going off.

  “What the devil was that?” Gram asked, sitting up on her sofa.

  “I don’t know.” My heart raced and I wished we could see out. The racket outside was unsettling to say the least—especially because we didn’t know what was causing it.

  Twenty minutes later, we heard it again, another crack!

  “It sounds like a car backfiring,” Gram said, “but no one in their right mind would be out driving in a storm like this.” She snuggled down into the sleeping bag and reached for my hand. “Thank you for staying with me. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared.”

  “Everything will be fine,” I assured her, even though I was trembling inside. “This is a solid house, and when we wake up in the morning, the sun will be shining and it’ll all be over. Just try to get some sleep.”

  The wind continued to roar, and those alarming sounds like cannon fire continued sporadically until somehow we managed to fall asleep. It wasn’t until we rose from our makeshift beds the next morning and ventured outside into the backyard that we discovered what had caused those ear-splitting sounds.

  Chapter Forty-five

  At least the sun was shining.

  “Look at all my trees,” Gram said with a heartbroken sigh. “It’s unreal.”

  One of the oldest and most majestic of her giant evergreens had been torn from the earth. It had toppled over onto the roof of her shed.

  Other trees, still standing, had their tops ripped off. The storm had snapped the trunks like toothpicks, which accounted for the loud cracks we’d heard throughout the night. Leafy branches had been tossed onto the deck and across the yard, and her entire house, including the roof, was splattered with wet leaves.

  We both looked up at the white painted clapboard siding her home. “You’ll need someone with a power washer to come over here and hose it all down,” I said.

  A few minutes later, we made our way out front to see how Gram’s neighbors had fared. All the houses were intact. There was very little structural damage, but power lines were down and branches littered the street.

  Mrs. Cassidy, in her blue bathrobe, stood at her front gate, staring at everything as if in a daze. Her husband was already hauling branches off the front lawn and dragging them around to the back.

  We went to chat with others who were completely dumbstruck by the spectacle. Because the power was still out, we invited a few of them over for cereal and coffee, which we heated on the barbeque.

  We were all shocked when the paper boy peddled up the street on his bicycle, weaving around fallen branches, to deliver the morning paper. He apologized for being so late.

  “They must have gone to print early last night,” Mr. Cassidy said, “knowing what was to come.”

  With the power out, we doubted we would see another paper for many days.

  * * *

  Cell phone service was out, but late in the morning Gram’s land line was working so I called Cassie and the guys at work to make sure everyone was okay. They were, but with no power, the owner deemed that the pub would stay closed.

  The city of Portland declared a state of emergency and everyone was instructed to stay off the roads to allow emergency crews to begin the cleanup, but we couldn’t go anywhere regardless, with so many trees and power lines down in the streets.

  Concerned about my house on the water, I called my neighbor but there was no answer. Most of the residents on the Cape had been evacuated before the storm, so all I could do was sit tight and hope I’d be able to check on my home soon.

  Chapter Forty-six

  We were without power for three days, and it wasn’t until the third day that I was able to leave Portland and drive out to Cape Elizabeth. Gram—curious about the damage to the coastline and my beloved home—asked to come along.

  We drove in silence most of the way, because I was tense about what I would find. The closer we drew to the coast, the more anxious I became, for there was flooding in a number of areas, and we passed many houses with their roofs torn away and their windows boarded up.

  We drove slowly, gaping out the windows at all the destruction, and I began to feel sick to my stomach. If there was significant damage to my own treasured, historic home, I wasn’t sure what my insurance would cover, and I didn’t have a lot of spare cash lying around.

  When we turned onto the long tree-lined drive, and the stately white mansion finally came into view, I breathed a sigh of relief, for it was still standing, strong and proud. From a distance, there appeared to be no broken windows or damage to the roof. I reached across the console to squeeze Gram’s hand.

  “She looks okay,” Gram said.

  “Thank heavens.” But as I pulled onto the white gravel driveway and was able to see down over the back lawn to the rocky shoreline, my eyes grew wide with shock.

  “Do you see what I see?” I asked Gram as I shut off the engine.

  “I sure do,” she replied. “I wonder who that belongs to.”

  We got out to inspect the sailboat that was lying on her side on the grass, halfway up the hill.

  * * *

  “She’s got to be at least a forty-footer.” I ran my hands along the white painted hull and glanced down at the sturdy keel. Some of the wire shrouds had come loose and the paint was chipped in places, but otherwise she appeared surprisingly undamaged for having been tossed up over the rocks.

  As I circled around to the stern, I saw that her name was Evangeline.

  “Someone must be very worried about you,” I said. “How the heck did you get up here? And what were you doing out here in open water when there was a hurricane coming?”

  “It must have been one heck of a storm surge,” Gram said, “to have hurled this boat up here like a bathtub toy.”

  “I’ll call the yacht club in Portland and let them know. Gosh…I hope no one was aboard.”

  With a sudden rush of panic, I took hold of the grab rail and hoisted myself onto the steeply sloping deck. I knocked firmly upon the forward hatch, then cupped my hands around the salt-caked window and peered inside. “I don’t see anyone. It looks like she’s all closed up.”

  I hopped down to the ground and shaded my eyes to look out at the sea. Where had she come from? All at once, something at the edge of my property caught my eye. Overcome by a wave of sorrow, I laid a hand over my heart.

  “The sundial…”

  I shared a look with my grandmother, who understood my attachment to the ancient stone timekeeper at the edge of the lawn, for that was the spot where Ethan and I had said our final good-byes that first summer. On that day, he had promised to love me forever.

  Starting off down the hill, I said, “The boat must have knocked it over.”

  As I drew near, I was relieved to see that it was still in one piece, resting on its side. I knelt beside it and ran my fingers over the roman numerals carved into the dial plate, and along the edge of the sturdy stone gnomon.

  Gram appeared beside me, casting her shadow upon it.

  “How heavy is it?” she asked.

  “Pretty heavy, I think.” Neverthel
ess, I rose to my feet and gripped the top to try and upright it.

  “Let me help you.” Gram bent to take some of the weight.

  Together, with considerable effort, we managed to stand it up on the stone slab. I squinted at the blue sky, dotted with white clouds.

  “The gnomon has to point north,” I mentioned.

  Gram pointed. “North is that way.”

  Grunting with exertion, I inched it around, little by little, until I had it pointing approximately in the right direction.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  Gram checked her watch. “It’s ten to twelve.”

  I examined the gnomon’s shadow and determined that the dial was slightly behind, so I wrenched it around another inch until the shadow fell in the proper place. In that instant, I experienced a tingling sensation. It began in my fingers where I held the edges of the dial plate in a tight grip, and sizzled up my hands and arms to my shoulders and down my back.

  I released my grip and jumped back. “I just got a shock.”

  Gram regarded me with bewilderment, then touched her hand to the top of the dial plate. “I don’t feel anything.”

  Stepping forward uneasily, I ran my hands down the length of the ornately carved column it stood on, which resembled something out of a Chinese temple. “Me neither. Not anymore.” But as I stared at it, I felt as if I’d experienced this sensation before. Or possibly dreamed it.

  “Do you ever have déjà vu?” I asked Gram.

  “Occasionally,” she replied. “Why?”

  “I feel like I dreamed about this—that something weird happened when I touched the sundial before, but it’s such a vague feeling. I can’t describe it.”

  “Maybe you did dream it,” she replied. “Some people say we have premonitions in our dreams, but most of us don’t remember them when we wake up—until the moment actually happens and it feels familiar.”

  “That’s what this feels like,” I replied, backing away from the sundial uneasily.