by Gloria Repp
He spread out the map on the kitchen table and showed her the trails he’d marked. Then he wanted to see the cat. They found him on her windowsill, staring into the bushes.
Madeleine said, “Guess who went out that window and met me on the porch today?”
Jude stroked the thick fur, looking triumphant. “You’re getting stronger, boy!”
With Jude’s help, the packing went quickly. As he taped another box closed, he asked, “I was wondering, can you come to SING? It’s tonight.”
She didn’t feel like socializing. Besides, she’d planned to give the Challah braid another try.
He picked up a stack of plates and gave her an appealing glance.
“I guess I could,” she said. “If you’re there, I’ll know at least one person.”
He grinned. “You know Timothy,” he said. “And Remi, and Mr. and Mrs. Martinera. That’s a lot more than one.”
While they finished up, she remembered her decoy project and said to Bria, “My aunt wants me to research those decoys we found, for her magazine.”
They were both eyeing her. “I bought the mallard drake from Timothy’s store,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”
Conscious that she was chattering, circling around to get to her question, she said, “Timothy told me your mother is the best authority on decoys. Do you think she’d mind another visit?”
Bria and Jude exchanged a glance. Jude studied his sneakers.
“She’s sick right now,” Bria said. “Maybe next week.”
Aunt Lin arrived in time for supper, as promised, and asked about her day.
“I bought a decoy and plenty of groceries,” Madeleine said. “We can have a turkey on Friday, and there’ll be leftovers for sandwiches this weekend. I’ll make cranberry tarts for the supper. How’s that sound?”
“Wonderful.” Aunt Lin picked up her fork. “And look at this roast beef!”
While they finished dessert, she told her aunt about SING.
“Good for you,” she said. “Your father was musical. Didn’t he lead the singing in your church?”
“Yes,” Madeleine said. “And he was always singing around the house. Did he do that when you were growing up?”
“Definitely. I was a lot younger, but I used to follow him around, trying to copy him. I sounded awful, but he didn’t seem to mind.”
Madeleine smiled. That sounded like him.
“I’m glad to see you smiling again,” her aunt said. “What are you going to wear?”
“I don’t know.” Did it matter?
“Jeans are good on you. And how about that long-sleeved green top? It brings out the green in your eyes.”
Madeleine wanted to laugh. “The Dumont green, is that it?”
“Of course.” Her aunt’s eyes softened. “That Dumont blood is a gift, you know. The Dumont women are tough—and you are too, whether you realize it or not. Have some fun for a change. I’ll see you in the morning.”
CHAPTER 12
Why are Jude and Bria
protecting their mother?
She’s a talented person,
judging from the decoys.
But she’s distraught about something.
Her husband?
~Journal
As Madeleine walked up the steps into Timothy’s store, the Martineras joined her. Charlotte welcomed her to SING and introduced Howard, her husband, who hurried ahead into the office. He took down the long table, rotated the sofa, and set up folding chairs and an electronic keyboard.
“Sit with me,” Charlotte said. “I hope I can stay. I have a client who’s due to go into labor any moment. Oops, I’ll be right back. Forgot to pass out the song sheets.”
Madeleine wanted to ask about Charlotte’s midwifery, but half-a-dozen adults had arrived, including a pregnant woman who sat near Charlotte to talk.
Remi walked in with his guitar, sent her a dazzling smile, and pulled out a chair facing the group. Three girls clustered around him, and he kept them laughing as he tuned his guitar.
Jude arrived soon afterwards and introduced her to his teenaged friends, dark-haired Pumper and Fritz, who told her they wanted to start a band. They eyed Remi’s guitar longingly.
Timothy smiled at her and sat up near the front.
Nathan Parnell came in while Howard was welcoming everyone. He sat at the keyboard, looked the group over, and gave her a nod, which seemed to be his chosen method of communication.
Howard started them off with “I Sing the Mighty Power of God,” and they sang praise songs, hymns, and choruses with equal enthusiasm. Madeleine knew most of the songs, thanks to her father, and today she enjoyed them all.
Howard asked for favorites, and then he chose the last song: “As the Deer.” Madeleine leaned back and sang with her eyes closed. He alone—was her heart’s desire. He alone—had set her free today.
Was this what they called joy? Thank You, Lord.
After Timothy finished with prayer, most of the adults left, but the teens stayed, drinking lemonade and eating chocolate chip cookies that tasted as if they’d come from a box.
Jude, carrying a handful of cookies, grinned at her. “Mollie, wasn’t that great?”
She smiled at him and at Remi, who had joined them. “It was fun, just like you told me.”
Remi elbowed Jude. “How come you get to call her Mollie?”
Jude looked smug. “She said so. Her nickname.”
“Just for my friends,” she said to Remi. “Like you. Don’t tell your boss.”
He grinned, and Pumper and Fritz came up to talk to them.
Maybe she could leave now. She had planned to sit in the back, but here she was in the middle of everybody. No point hanging around any longer. Were these cookies stale, or was she getting picky?
The doctor appeared at her side, carrying his lemonade and cookies. He looked more rested, the gray eyes clear. He nudged one of the cookies on his plate. “Yours are better.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
“I have a name, remember?”
“Right again. Does it ever bore you?”
He eyed her. “My name?”
“Being right all the time.”
He grinned, looking as young as one of the teens. “I will not be vexed by you—it’s Mollie, isn’t it?—as long as there’s a chance for real cookies. I hope you caught the embedded request.”
She had to smile at that. He’d picked up on her nickname already. She should stop needling him.
One of the boys called him over to their group, and the Martinera sisters sidled up to her. Bonnie, tall and blonde, looked studious. Her sister, Connie, with frizzled brown hair, wasn’t much taller than Madeleine, and had already said at least a million words this evening.
Bonnie smiled at her. “I like the way you sing alto, Mrs. Burke. Would you teach me?”
“I’d be glad to,” she said. “Let’s sit together next time.”
Connie had been talking to a girl behind her, but she swung back, saying, “Did you ask her?”
Bonnie shook her head.
Connie put on a pleading face. “Can you swim, Mrs. Burke?”
“Yes.”
“And paddle a canoe?”
She nodded without enthusiasm. What was this about?
“Hoo-rah!” Connie turned pink. “Hey Doc! Doc! Come over here.”
He looked up from the boys gathered around him.
“Not so loud,” Bonnie said. “You always sound so rude. Can’t you grow up, just for once?”
“Sorry.” Connie didn’t look a bit sorry. “Here he comes.”
He was there a minute later, and Connie said, “I found her! She can swim and paddle!”
Madeleine looked at him with a shrug.
He grinned. “Well now, do you paddle when you swim?’
“Not usually.”
“Actually, it’s not a requirement. Are you wondering what they’re talking about?”
“I certainly am.”
“I often do, too. But
this time I think they’re referring to a canoe trip I was planning.” He glanced at the two girls. “With the guys.”
Connie’s voice rose. “You promised! You promised!”.
He smiled at Madeleine. “Which I may regret.”
To Connie he said, “There’s one more important detail.”
“What?”
“Did you ask whether she wants to come?”
Two pairs of blue eyes fastened on her. “Do you?”
A canoe trip? She hadn’t been on one for years.
“When is it?”
“A week from Saturday,” he said. “We think.”
They looked at her and she said, “I’ll have to see.” Hedging, wasn’t she?
“Hoo-rah!” Connie said. “Now Doc has to keep his promise.” She grabbed Madeleine in a hug, then turned and hugged her sister.
The doctor stepped back. Didn’t he want a hug too?
“What’s this promise?” she asked.
Bonnie said, “He takes the guys canoeing, and he never takes us. He told us we had to find a lady who’s good at canoeing and can swim too.”
“I’m no expert,” Madeleine said.
Connie was bouncing up and down. “You’ll be great. Better than Mom. She hates the water.”
The doctor said, “All right, girls. Let’s wait until next week. If everything works out, we’ll make some firm plans at SING.”
They nodded, and Connie grabbed her sister’s arm, taking her off to discuss something vital with one of the other girls.
Madeleine looked at him. “Thank you for giving me a bit of breathing space.”
“Only for the moment. Don’t let them pressure you.”
“Dad and I did some canoeing. I kind of miss it.”
He glanced at the girls, now huddled on the sofa. “This won’t be a peaceful trip, not with those two along. I’ve got to admit I made that rule so I wouldn’t have to deal with them. Especially the rattle-brained one.”
She gave him a teasing smile. “I’d have thought you could deal with anything.”
His smile had an edge to it. “They’re all yours.”
“I’m used to teens,” she said. “As far as the trip is concerned, let me think about it.”
Did she want to get involved in something like this again? With him? Maybe. Maybe not.
The question followed her home, but it wandered off as she was getting ready for bed. Her father’s Bible caught her eye, and she remembered Timothy saying she should read—what? A psalm. Was it the eighteenth? She sat down to find the passage.
I love you, O Lord, my strength.
The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my
deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge.
It sounded like the sign on the inside of Timothy’s doorway.
Both verses were underlined. Had her father walked through that doorway too? The word rock was circled, with an arrow pointing to a note in the margin: Ps. 73:26
She turned to it, knowing what she’d find:
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever.
He had underlined the word strength, and in the margin he’d written: See Ps. 18:2. Means ROCK.
She’d always liked rocks. When they went hiking, her father would tease her about bringing home the mountain, piece by piece. Somewhere she still had the chunk of granite she’d carried back from Mill Mountain.
“The Lord is my rock.” She said it aloud, and the cat stopped washing his face to gaze at her. She glanced back at the psalm. “And my fortress and my deliverer.”
God would show her what to do, even about a little thing like a canoe trip. And about . . . the fearful things too. Perhaps He would make them disappear—poof!
She opened the window to let the night air cool her face, and while she finished getting ready for bed, the two verses cycled through her mind. “Thanks, Dad,” she whispered.
The next morning, Aunt Lin stepped out of her office to say that she’d invited Dr. Parnell for tomorrow’s supper and he’d agreed. Meanwhile, she’d be working in her darkroom for most of the day.
Madeleine packed up more of the dining room clutter, and, wanting to match her aunt’s efficiency, started on Timothy’s signs and put the turkey into the fridge to thaw. Later, during her run in the woods, she plotted the rest of tomorrow’s menu.
That evening she finished her first draft of the paper on French bread—she’d print it out the next time she went to Timothy’s—and read about the historical background of Challah. Now all she had to do tomorrow was cook.
On Friday, except for a short walk, she spent most of her time in the kitchen. Aunt Lin was still working, but she said she didn’t mind music, so Madeleine put on a Mozart CD and filled the room with trumpets.
She’d begin with the Challah, to make sure it didn’t bomb again. This one looked better, so she brushed on an egg-white glaze and sprinkled it with sesame seeds. In the afternoon, when Jude came to help, she rolled out the pastry for tarts and let him make the cranberry filling. Next, she’d put the turkey into the oven and check her list.
She was finishing up when the phone rang. A minute later, Aunt Lin came out of her bedroom. “That was Dr. Parnell. He’s got an emergency, so he can’t come. He apologized. Said he hoped I’d invite him another time.”
Her aunt gave her a sidelong glance. “Too bad, isn’t it? I’d have loved to see him and Kent interact.”
Disappointment flickered, but only for an instant. She hadn’t expected him to show up. Such a busy person.
Kent and Remi arrived just after the turkey had popped its timer, and the kitchen smelled deliciously of roasting meat. The dining room still looked cluttered, but the long table was clear. She should have put candles or flowers at one end, not that these two would notice. Well, Remi might.
The boy ate swiftly, as if he hadn’t seen food for a week, and after emptying his plate for the second time, he sat with his head tipped back, examining the chandelier over their heads.
Aunt Lin and Kent were talking about the eastern pine looper worm, discussing whether it caused more damage than a forest fire. Apparently Kent had spent a couple of summers fighting fires at Yellowstone and considered himself an expert. Remi, from the look on his face, had heard it all before.
Madeleine leaned toward him and said in a low voice, “You read Shakespeare? I’m curious about that.”
He grinned. “My senior year in high school, we had this English teacher who made us watch the BBC videos. A couple of them were cool. Our drama club put on Macbeth. I guess it kind of rubbed off on me.”
She started to say that she knew how he felt, but Kent asked him a question, and the conversation turned to the recent fires in the Barrens, continuing amiably enough until she served dessert.
Remi ate his cranberry tart with evident pleasure and accepted another. “So you made these little pies?”
“Jude did the filling.”
“That dark-haired kid?”
“He’s fourteen, older than he looks,” she said. “His interest in cooking is unusual, but he’s good at it.”
Kent interrupted himself to say, “Not surprising. He has to do all the cooking at home.”
“Why is that?”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about that bunch, my dear.”
Madeleine sent him a look. The glacier one.
Her aunt caught it. “Don’t be upset, Mollie. You have such a soft heart, giving them food and all, but they’re—”
“Losers,” Kent said.
He licked the whipped cream off his fork, looking as if he enjoyed the sound of that condemning word. “The father disappeared, probably took off with one of his students. The mother lives in an alcoholic daze. The grandmother has lost half her marbles, and the kids run wild. They should be put in a foster home.”
“Not Bria!” Aunt Lin exclaimed. “She’s at least twenty. And Jude is quite capable of taking care of hi
mself.”
Kent drew his knife out of its sheath and studied its shining length. “That boy,” he said, “is a menace.”
“Hey,” Remi said, “I asked if there were any girls my age around here, and you said no. What about this Bria?”
“Not that one,” Kent said. A flush colored his cheeks. “She’s got claws. Wouldn’t trust her for a minute. Another loser.”
Remi fingered the band of white coral at his neck and shot him a glance that said, ‘Maybe for you, old man.’
Madeleine put down her fork. “You’re wrong about Jude. And especially about Bria. She’s hardworking and talented.”
To Remi she said, “Her father was a Shakespeare buff. He named his dog Shylock.”
Remi raised an eyebrow. “Mmm. Got her phone number?”
She turned back to Kent, anger simmering. “How can you talk about your cousins like that?”
“Distant cousins.” His eyes had narrowed to slits. “Very distant cousins. I do what I can for them, but there comes a point . . .”
He sheathed his knife, giving her a dark glance, and she knew that for once she’d succeeded in breaching his affable façade. “Stay away from that trash,” he muttered. “They’re nothing but trouble.”
He glanced at Remi. “You too, kid.”
“Let’s get rid of these dishes,” Aunt Lin said quickly, “and Kent can show us the photos from Widow Bentley’s Attic.”
Madeleine helped to clear the table, reminding herself that Remi had taken those photos for her and she’d better pay attention.
Yes, the glassware was beautiful. And yes, the decanter and sugar bowl looked like ones they’d found here, but it was hard to concentrate. Remi had brought double prints, so she’d look at her set later.
What was the matter with her? Was she being overly protective of Jude and Bria? She rubbed at the gooseflesh on her arms. Or was it Kent? Something about him?
Remi was saying that Widow Bentley’s Attic had the most authentic display of Jersey glass, unless you went to the museum down in Millville.
“A museum? We should go there,” Aunt Lin said, and asked him for directions.
They played Monopoly again, as doubles this time. Madeleine tried to be a good partner for Remi, tried to be clever and enthusiastic, but they lost. He murmured encouragement to her, and she liked him for that.
