As Mum talks, she lights a candle. She walks slowly down the aisle, stopping to light the candle of each person on the end of a row. Those people then turn and light the candles of the people next to them, and on and on and on. I wave to Mrs. Saperstone across the aisle. Dr. Swammy is sitting next to her. Too bad Nana and Gramp are missing this, but I’m sure they’re having a great time in New York.
Mum lights my candle. It flickers and sputters. I light Sam’s candle. Sam turns toward Stella. Soon, everyone’s face is aglow. I see JFK with his family a few rows back. He raises his candle. I raise mine back.
Mum starts singing. It’s Gramp’s favorite song and mine. We all join in:
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine,
This little-light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine …
“Sing it, sister!” a man’s voice bellows and we all turn back to look.
A tall black man in a gray suit and fancy hat is walking up the aisle. He maneuvers a cane in one hand. There’s a bouquet of flowers in the other.
The man is smiling like he just saw Jesus. He’s heading straight toward Mum.
This little light of mine …
Even in the dark, I can see that the stranger is handsome, very handsome. He walks with a confident swag, like he’s walked up this aisle a hundred times before, although clearly, he’s not from Bramble.
I look at Mum. She’s stopped singing. Her hands are clasped over her mouth. Tears are streaming down her face. Her whole body is shaking.
We keep singing for her. I’m gonna let it shine …
When the stranger reaches Mum, he stops. He holds out the bouquet. “Sully?”
“Riley!” Mum screams and falls into his arms.
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.
After the service JFK asks me, “Want to see a movie Friday?”
“Sure,” I say, still sort of weepy over watching Mum and her long-lost love. Cupid came through after all. “Are Jessie and Tina coming too?”
“No,” JFK says. “Not unless you want them to.”
I spot Ruby staring at us.
“I thought maybe just the two of us could go,” JFK says, a bit awkwardly.
“I’d love to,” is all I have the chance to say before Stella calls me.
I can’t write in my diary fast enough. A date Friday … then the beach party Saturday…. Two nights in a row. Thank you!
Mum says the only prayer you ever need is just two words, “thank you.”
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
CHAPTER 23
So Quick Bright Things …
So quick bright things come to confusion.
—Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream
I run to my locker in the morning. I can’t wait to tell Tina. She’ll know exactly what I should wear on my first “just-the-two-of-us” date with JFK. I still haven’t asked Stella if I can go yet, but everything feels so perfect, somehow I’m not worried.
The Burners are huddled around Ruby. I can tell Ruby sees me coming.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” one of the Burners squeals.
“What did he say when he gave it to you?” another Burner shrieks.
Ruby whispers something and they all giggle.
“Oh hi, Willa,” Ruby says loudly, like she just noticed me. She is twisting something shiny around her neck.
“Show her,” one of the Burners says. She’s talking about me.
“No,” Ruby says, but I can tell she really wants to.
“What is it?” I ask, taking the bait.
“A locket,” Ruby says, showing me the silver chain with a heart in the middle.
“Open it,” one of the Burners says.
“Yes, show her,” another Burner says.
Ruby opens the heart and I bend in closer to see.
Ruby’s picture is on one side. JFK’s on the other.
“He picked it out for her,” one of the Burners says.
The room is swirling. I can’t breath. It can’t possibly be.
Then with an icy shiver I remember seeing JFK in town on Black Friday. And then Ruby came in the store talking about the new necklaces at Wick-strom’s …
“Got to go,” I manage to say. “I’m late.”
I run outside. I can’t go to class. There’s the bench by the willow where he showed me his lyrics. The tears start. “Miss Havisham, you’ll be late,” Mademoiselle Ferret snaps, rushing past. The bell rings and I turn to follow, but my whole body’s shaking, no.
I run down to the basement, to the bathroom by the old art studio. How could you do this to me, JFK? You just asked me out on a date! And Ruby said she liked Chris Ruggiero. I hate you, Ruby. It smells like urine and turpentine in here. I’m going to puke. I’m not going back upstairs ever. I slide down on the floor and cry.
I cry through first bell and the second and then I turn from sad to mad. Get up, Willa. Grow up. He had no right to treat you like that. Track him down. You deserve an explanation. You told Mum to be a leaper. Be a leaper yourself, Willa. Come on.
I wash my face, fix my hair, and charge upstairs like a nor’easter. At the landing I turn, huffing, and that’s when I see Stella and Sam. They are standing in front of Headmaster Chillmark’s office. What’s up? My grades are great. Dr. Chillmark pats Stella’s back awkwardly, as if he’s trying to comfort her. He shakes Sam’s hand.
“Mother? Sam?” I walk toward them. I have a sick feeling inside. When they turn, I can tell by their faces that my life is about to change. I freeze like a statue.
Stella bursts into tears. Sam grips her arm. They walk slowly toward me.
Nana.
Oh no, please God, not Nana.
“No,” I say loudly, shaking my head.
Stella and Sam move faster.
“No!” I shout. Nana was walking every day. She …
Kids stop in the hall to watch. Sam and Stella are nearly to me.
“It’s okay, Willa,” Sam says. “We just need to talk to you—”
“No, no, no.” I start crying. “Not Nana, not Nana, please.”
Stella reaches me first and wraps me in a hug. She whispers gently in my ear. “No, sweetheart. Nana’s fine.”
CHAPTER 24
Good Night, Sweet Prince
Now cracks a noble heart.
Good night, sweet prince,
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.
—Shakespeare, Hamlet
On the morning of Gramp’s wake, it started to snow. Thick and heavy, like sheets of fog, sweeping in off the ocean. It snowed all day and by four o’clock, when calling hours at McNulty Funeral Home officially started, there was more than a foot and a half. It seemed it would never stop.
But the snow didn’t stop Alexander Tweed’s many friends from coming.
The line of mourners started at the steps of McNulty’s and curved around to High Street, up and over the snow banks to Foster, around Tudor and Guilder and Starboard, and all the way to Main Street, where candles and bears and bouquets of flowers graced the steps of Sweet Bramble Books.
Gramp Tweed died of a heart attack in New York City. It happened quickly. He didn’t suffer much. There wasn’t time for us to get to the hospital.
And here all this time I was worried about Nana.
I am frozen. I cannot cry.
It hit me like a glacier when I first saw Nana after Gramp’s death, that in all the years I have seen Nana laugh, I have never seen her cry.
Now, she cannot stop.
At first Nana wouldn’t answer the door. “Please, Mother,” Stella begged in the gentlest voice I’ve ever heard her use. Scamp was barking and scratching against the door, Muffles purring strangely. “Please, Mother, let me in.” Stella pressed her ear to the door for an answer. “It’s okay, Mother, I know. We just want to help.”
When Nana screamed “Get away from me,” Stella told Sam to take me home.
Sam nodded. I didn’t argue.
The next morning I overh
eard Stella telling Sam how she found a spare key in the store. Upstairs, Nana was curled up on the kitchen floor, shivering, Scamp and Muffles huddled by her side.
I wasn’t there but I can imagine how it went. “It was my fault, my fault.” Nana sobbed. “We never should have gone to New—”
“No, Mother,” Stella said, holding Nana in her arms like a baby, kissing her soft wrinkled cheek. “It’s okay, Mother, it’s okay….” Nana cried and cried and Stella didn’t rush her. Later, Stella helped Nana take a bath. She warmed up some soup and fed it to her, slowly. She covered Nana with quilts on the couch and stayed up all night in the chair beside her, in case her mother needed anything.
Many people want to “say a few words” about Gramp. Mum welcomes each one to the microphone. Stella never leaves Nana’s side. She hands her tissues and holds her arm firmly, so strong and kind and gentle.
“He was our town psychologist,” Gramp’s friend, Bill Carroll, says. “When my Mary died after thirty-two years of marriage and nobody knew what to do, Alexander brought me a bag of books that got me through the winter.”
“He never judged anybody,” Mrs. Bellimo said, with a hiccup.
Mr. Cohen goes next. “When my grandson announced he hated reading, Alexander said, “here David, give him this one. Maniac something I think it was called. Now Sammy can’t read a book fast enough.”
One after the other, my gramp’s customers, my gramp’s friends, stood up and talked about him. And nearly every one of them mentioned a book.
Mrs. Saperstone hugs me. “See how personal books are, Willa? Your gramp gave people books that gave them hope and they will never forget him.”
Dr. Swaminathan shares something from Shakespeare about a sweet prince with a noble heart. Yes, that was my Gramp.
Sam reads from the poet Emily Dickinson:
We never Know how high we are
Till we are called to rise
And then if we are true to plan
Our statures touch the skies—
“Alexander.” Sam’s voice breaks. “Alexander Tweed was a tall, tall man.”
Mum reads the “love is patient, love is kind” passage from the Bible, then leads us in Gramp’s favorite song. “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine …”
Stella, I am certain, wanted to say something, but Nana needed her daughter by her side and Stella stayed rock sturdy by her, never faltering for a second.
I went last.
“My gramp and I loved to talk about books. Every Friday he’d have a new one picked out special just for me. We’d drink lemon tea and talk about the stories, what made us laugh and cry. I realize now we weren’t just talking about books on those Friday afternoons. We were talking about life.
“William Shakespeare once said: ‘We know what we are; but know not what we may be.’ I know this for sure. I am my grandfather’s granddaughter, and whatever I will be, whatever I will do in my life, his spirit will shine on in me.”
It’s a long evening as people come through the receiving line, saying kind words to Nana and Stella and Sam and me. Tina is the first of my friends in line, her face wet with tears. She hugs me tight. “If there’s anything I can do for you, sweetie. Anything. You just call me.”
“I’m sorry, Tina, but we’re going to have to cancel the beach party.”
“Of course, Willa, we know. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”
The workers from Sweet Bramble Books come through and all the staff from the inn. My teachers, our neighbors. Where is JFK?
Emily, Trish, Lauren, and Kelsey. Where is he? Jessie and Luke and Lexy and Caroline, even Ruby Sivler and her parents, where is—
And then I see him. JFK. At the end of the line, covered with snow.
“It was a very long line out there,” Stella whispers in my ear.
He came. I’m so confused. Thoughts from my head and thoughts from my heart converge like the currents at the tip of the spit. Does he like me or does he like Ruby? He’s here, but why did he give Ruby the locket?
By the time he reaches me, the snow has melted and JFK is dripping wet. He looks like a golden-haired shaggy dog with very, very blue eyes. He’s wearing his Bramble uniform. JFK got dressed up for Gramp.
There will be time for explanations later. What matters now is that he is here.
“I’m sorry, Willa.” His lip trembles. “Come here,” he says. He hugs me.
And thankfully, at last, I cry.
CHAPTER 25
The Sign
If ever thou shalt love,
In the sweet pangs of it remember me …
—Shakespeare, Twelfth Night
On Friday, after the funeral, everyone comes back to the inn for lunch. I try to be cheerful for Nana and helpful for Stella. I try to listen to the kind things people say, not remembering a word of it. I am in a dream, a horrible dream.
It’s always sad when someone dies, but, until you lose someone you love, really love, you don’t know how much it hurts.
The next morning I’m in the kitchen making tea, when Stella comes in.
“Want to go for a run with me?” she asks. “I think the roads are clear now.”
Stella never asks me to ran with her. She likes to go alone.
“Sure,” I say. “Just let me get dressed.”
We jog toward town. We don’t say a word by Sweet Bramble Books. There’s a stunning red cardinal on the tree out front. It looks at me as we pass.
“To the beach?” Stella shouts.
“Sure,” I say. And then we don’t talk anymore.
It’s so cold, we make ghosts in the air as we breathe. I push myself to keep up with Stella. I’m a pretty strong runner from soccer, but Stella’s much faster than me.
After a bit, she slows down and adjusts her pace to mine. We are nearly to Sandy Beach. I turn to say something, but then I see her face. My mother looks calm, peaceful. The way Sam looks on his bench in the labyrinth. The way Mum looks at BUC. I smile and zip my lips. It’s enough just to be with her.
Later, after lunch, I get on my boots. Sam cleared the labyrinth path yesterday. I brush snow from the statue of the girl reading a book. Stella and Sam brought it back for me from their honeymoon on Nantucket. The weekend after Nana and Gramp got married. Everything was perfect then. My four favorite people were in love.
Sam is sitting on the old stone bench in the middle of the labyrinth. His eyes are closed. I walk quietly so I won’t disturb him.
The holly bushes are in bloom. The ground is frozen but clear of brush. Sam takes good care of this circle. I bend down for a sprig of lavender, rub the green needles between my fingers and sniff. Mmmm. Nana’s favorite. Gramp wore a boutonniere of lavender from this garden on their Valentine’s wedding day. “Good thing about lavender,” Sam said then. “It blooms again and again.”
I throw the sprig down. I kick a stump. How could you do this? Why Gramp?
A cardinal lands on a branch before me. It looks like the one I saw earlier. The red is bright against the gray. The bird looks at me, hurrgh, hurrgh, then flies off.
I take a deep breath and let it out. I take another and another. The labyrinth path loops me inward and then away as I circle toward the center.
After awhile, as I walk, I am more peaceful inside. The red bird comes back. Hello. I keep on breathing and walk, feeling better as I go.
When I reach the bench, Sam sees me and smiles. I sit and lean my head on his arm. His wool sweater is scratchy. Neither of us wants to talk.
The red cardinal comes again. It looks at me, hurrgh, hurrgh, and it’s off.
That night as I write in my journal, I think about my day. The run with Stella. The labyrinth with Sam. The stunning red cardinal. And as I write, it strikes me. I start laughing through my tears. Thank you. Thanks for the sign. Death comes but love lives on.
Bird by bird, buddy. Bird by bird.
CHAPTER 26
Making Santa Believe
For thy sweet love remembe
red such wealth
brings …
—Shakespeare, Sonnet 29
When Nana sent Gramp’s obituary notice to the Cape Cod Times she wrote, “in lieu of flowers, and in honor of Alexander’s great love of books, the family invites friends to send memorial contributions to the Save the Bramble Library Fund c/o First United Bank of Bramble, Cape Cod, Massachusetts.”
Alexander Tweed had a lot of friends. Checks poured in like tourists across the Bourne Bridge on the fourth of July. Fifty dollars. One hundred dollars. Five hundred dollars. Six dollars and twenty-five cents from Mr. Cohen’s grandson.
And then, by special delivery, a letter came addressed to me from Charles Noble Butler III, New York, New York. Gramp’s old school buddy, “Chas.”
$10,000.
I run into the kitchen, smack into Stella. “Mother, we’ve got it. $10,000. That’s exactly what we need!”
“Hoorah!” Stella says. She lifts me up and swirls me around.
“What’s all the commotion?” Sam says, rushing in.
“We did it!” I’m dancing my nose-in-the-air Snoopy dance. “Gramp made Santa believe. Just wait until Mrs. Saperstone hears!”
Sam and Stella are laughing, so happy for me.
But then I think of something. I stop dancing. “It’s sort of cheating how we got the money, though. We were supposed to earn it.”
“You did, Willa,” Stella says, clenching my arm. “You absolutely did. I learned this in my MBA course on development at NYU. There are two major kinds of philanthropy. There’s fund-raising and then there’s friend-raising. The first is good, but the second is more powerful. Your gramp believed in you so much that he convinced his friend Chas to believe. And who knows who Chas will influence? When you friend-raise the good just keeps on spreading.”
I smile at my mother. I hug her. “Thanks, Mom.”
On the way to the library, I see Ruby. We walk along Main Street. I tell her the good news. Ruby stares at me funny. I think she’s going to cry or something.
The Cupid Chronicles Page 10
