Stargazey Point

by Shelley Noble

  “Which reminds me, I can pay you and Celeste back.”

  “Forget that for now. Tell me how it all happened.”

  Marnie poured herself another scotch.

  “Beau calls this morning and tells me to tell Millie that he and Cab are coming for lunch. So I haul my butt up to her room and yell through the door. All I had to say was Cab was coming to lunch, and open sesame, she’s brushing past me and headed for the kitchen.

  “She called Wilson over at the market and had him deliver shrimp. I’m surprised he didn’t keel over from surprise on the spot.” She looked over the rim of her glass.

  “So they get here, and Cab’s slathering on the charm and Beau’s looking shifty and I know something’s up, so I just sit back and watch.

  “We’re on our way in to lunch, like it was Sunday, and I see Beau slip something into Millie’s hand. Her eyes grow the size of salad plates, then she quietly slips it into her dress pocket.

  “So they all sit down to lunch and I start serving. Thank God she didn’t have time to get Ervina to come over. She would have sat down next to us and laughed herself silly to witness the goings-on in that room.

  “Cab flirted outrageously, extolled the virtues of Millie’s shrimp gumbo, and told her how her abilities as a hostess were wasted. I swear that boy could sell snake oil. And then he asked if she would please host the first Annual Stargazey Carousel Picnic.

  “She didn’t have a chance. She’d agreed before she realized that it meant having a barbecue on the grounds and showing the video you and the children made in the ballroom. He made moon eyes at her until I thought I’d burst a gusset from trying not to laugh. He was incorrigible.

  “Once he told her he’d pay for everything, there was no going back. Because then she got to say she wouldn’t think of letting him pay, that the Crispins had always supported the ‘endeavors of the community,’ and she would be pleased to continue the tradition. Of course she has no idea how much things will cost, and I’ll have to find a way to curtail her spending, but Cab will pick up whatever goes over budget.”

  “Everyone was planning to bring a dish,” Abbie said. “I’m not sure if any of them know how to make canapés.”

  “No problem. We’ll say that it is an evening honoring low-country cuisine.”

  “So has she forgiven me?”

  “Forgiven you? You’ve made her dream come true. At least she sees it that way. You and Cab.” Marnie laughed. “I won’t even tell you what she said about you and Cab.”

  “Does it involve cute?”

  “Something like that. Oh, don’t look so abashed. She’s already seeing the return of the Crispin dynasty and naming your children. Let her have her fun; it will end soon enough.”

  During the next week, Millie was a picture of industry. She consulted Abbie whenever they passed each other, called her cell when she was working, asked her opinion on everything, and posed the same questions at least twenty times apiece.

  Hadley’s store had a coat of paint, and Hadley had been heard to say he didn’t know how he’d let things go so long. He was seen every day wearing a not-quite-clean butcher’s apron, washing and scrubbing and throwing out cans of food that had probably expired years before.

  Women filed in and out of the new co-op, and, inside, the shelves filled with handcrafted gifts. A sign arrived and was hung across the front. Green letters spelled out sweetgrass.

  Posters appeared on telephone poles, old billboards, the sides of abandoned buildings, and in store windows from Myrtle Beach to Savannah. It seemed that the inhabitants of Stargazey Point had friends and relatives everywhere.

  The YouTube video Abbie posted had over a thousand hits the first week. Articles appeared in the local papers, in weekend circulars. Abbie, Sarah, Cab, and whoever they could corral who had access to the Internet posted on Facebook, tweeted, and left comments on the colorful website Jerome had designed.

  Businesses throughout town opened full-time, and the inn served nightly dinners.

  Abbie hardly ever saw Cab, and the carousel remained locked.

  “What do you think they’re doing in there?” Abbie wondered as she and Sarah sat on the front porch, drinking iced tea.

  “Same thing they’ve been doing for the last week. Hammering and hollering and Cab shouting orders day in and day out.” The blare of calliope music rent the air. Sarah clapped her free hand to her ear. The music warbled and fell silent.

  They both grimaced.

  “I sure as hell hope he gets that thing to work,” Sarah said.

  “He will,” Abbie said and mentally crossed her fingers.

  Everyone worked overtime. At Crispin House, preparations were in full swing for the barbecue and video showing. Beau paid Jerome to mow the grass and, along with his cash, handed him a letter that had come in the mail that day. He’d been accepted to Virginia Tech with a full scholarship.

  There was an impromptu celebration on the newly mown lawn.

  Friday came. Abbie awoke to the sweet smell of hickory smoke wafting through her windows. She went out to the veranda. Silas was already cooking, a long white apron tied over his coveralls, a red bandanna tied around his head. He waved a pair of tongs at her as he moved up and down the elongated grill like a marimba player.

  The day was sunny, already hot. It would be a scorcher, but there was a breeze from the ocean down on the lawn. The ballroom might get a little uncomfortable, but Abbie was hoping the subject matter would keep everyone enthralled for the twenty minutes it took to show the video.

  After much deliberation, she dressed in a boatneck sundress and sandals and went downstairs in a welter of emotions. Butterflies, excitement, and a bit of trepidation. It occurred to her that instead of taking a week’s vacation, she’d spent almost two months here.

  Inside the ballroom, Otis and Sarah were setting up video equipment. A cadre of men arranged folding chairs in rows facing a large video screen that someone borrowed from the community college. Everywhere women and teenagers swarmed about, dusting, polishing, and sweeping while Millie, looking very much like the lady of the manor, directed the activities.

  “This is beautiful,” Abbie told her.

  “Isn’t it? And this is the way it should be seen.”

  “Thanks again, Millie. Cab has worked so hard to get the carousel back to its former glory and the kids, too, documenting it.”

  “Our family has always supported the endeavors of our community. It’s our duty and our pleasure.”

  Spoken like a true grande dame, Abbie thought.

  “And besides,” Millie added, her eyes twinkling, “now Sister will have no excuse not to have a big party for Beau’s birthday. And you’ll never believe . . . Bethanne brought Mary Lou Henderson by earlier this mornin’. Her daughter’s getting married in the spring and when she saw the gazebo and the ballroom, she just begged me to let them have the weddin’ here. I just didn’t have the heart to say no.”

  “And that’s okay with you?” Abbie couldn’t imagine how Bethanne had pulled that off.

  “Why, of course. The Henderson family has been friends with our family for generations. I was happy to oblige. Especially now that I have a little pocket money to spruce things up a bit.” She smiled happily. “I’m so glad I didn’t let Marnie sell off all the silver like she wanted.”

  Revisionist history had found a home with Millie.

  “And the most wonderful thing. Celeste called to say she’s coming down at the end of summer. We’re just delighted. Excuse me.” Millie floated away. “Ivy, that epergne ought to go over there on the round table.”

  Stabbed by an unexpected but familiar pang of wistfulness, Abbie wandered out to the patio where another group was busy setting tables and carrying trays of food. She was still an outsider. Of course she was.

  Everyone had pulled together to make this all happen. They’d worked a
ll spring for this night. For their town. For their future. And suddenly it was moving too fast, and Abbie wasn’t ready for it to be over.

  After this weekend, they would settle back into their lives and all move forward together. A community. But where would that leave her?

  Millie had once said that Beau and Marnie were home at last, where they belonged. Everyone should have somewhere they belonged.

  Abbie had had a wonderful time here, come to love the people, but did she belong? How did you know when to settle down? For her parents, it had never happened and she doubted that they would ever retire to one place. They were happy traveling. They had each other.

  Home is where the heart is might work fine for her parents, but Abbie wanted a stationary home—brick and mortar, clapboard, hell, it didn’t matter. She wanted a zip code where her mail would come. Have it delivered to her own mailbox and actually be there to receive it.

  And the same friends year after year. She could imagine herself growing old, drinking lattes at Penny’s, maybe letting things with Cab take their course, grow into love or settle into a platonic friendship, best friends. She could make new friends, document Ervina’s life.

  She touched her nautical star. Beau promised it would lead her home, but to where? For the first time in weeks, panic seized her and didn’t let go.

  People began to arrive a little after four: kids, parents, grandparents, friends, townspeople, summer people with their children, who played freely with the kids from the center, people staying at the inn, even a few people who had heard about the weekend and had driven in from other towns.

  Some wandered down to the beach, others oohed and aahed over the ballroom. Old friends reconnected. The mood was festive. Millie presided over it all, and wherever Millie was, Bethanne was nearby. They were both very pleased with themselves.

  The only ones who weren’t happy were Joe and Dani.

  They both had been groomed and cleaned until they practically sparkled. Ervina, dressed in an even more elaborate attire than what she’d worn for the interview, held each one by the hand.

  “Hey, what’s the matter?” Abbie asked. “Your film is about to have its world premiere.”

  Normally this would have sent them into giggles, but tonight they just nodded together and sighed as if they were one person.

  Abbie looked at Ervina for an answer.

  “Their auntie is back from Afghanistan and she’s offered to take them in permanently.”

  “Don’t wanna go,” Joe said. “She be like uncle.”

  “Mr. Know-It-All don’t know nothin’.” Ervina gave him a gentle shake. “Ervina talked to her and she sounds real nice,” she said to Abbie. “Their mother’s sister. She’s been overseas for the last few years. Had no idea of the situation here.” Ervina pulled Joe close. “She’s got a nice place, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you gonna get a dog.”

  “Uncle beated our dog and it ran away.”

  Ervina sighed. “Didn’t Ervina tell you she ain’t never gonna give you up to somebody who don’t love you good? You just wait and see.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be nice,” Abbie said, hoping that was true.

  “We wanna stay here,” Joe said and buried his head in Ervina’s long skirt.

  The lights flickered on the veranda, and everyone made their way to the ballroom.

  “It’s time. Come on, you two, and help me introduce our video.”

  She hurried them inside.

  When everyone finally took their seats or found a place to stand at the back, Millie, who was dressed in an extravagant hostess gown, walked slowly to the front of the room. “Good evenin’. My family is so happy to be able to welcome you tonight for this lovely movie. And after the film we invite you to join us in the garden for some of Silas Cook’s famous barbecue.”

  She nodded at Abbie who stepped forward and thanked her for her support and gracious invitation. Millie smiled and nodded and was escorted to the center of the front row by the mayor himself.

  Abbie introduced all the children who had worked on the film and announced the premiere of Stargazey Carousel—An Oral History.

  “As with any film, we had way more material than we had time for. Additional pictures and the full interviews can be seen at StargazeyCarousel.com. And now . . . lights, please.”

  The lights went out. There was some hooting and squealing. Carousel music filled the air, the screen lit up; the title grew to fill the space, which earned some applause and more noise from the kids. After that, no one said a word. Bits of carousel shots were interspersed with snippets of the interviews. Some of the shots were a little wobbly and there was some good-natured gibing among the children, but the wobbles only made it more endearing.

  When Momo’s face came on the screen, Jenny shouted out, “That’s my gramma!”

  After that, each kid identified his or her parent with a shout.

  The film culminated with the mermaid being taken out of the crate and hung on the wall and Ervina saying “Come to the Stargazey carousel,” making the invitation sound like a divine summons.

  The video was a success, and everyone applauded enthusiastically as Abbie had each child and interviewee stand. When Joe and Dani stood with Ervina, people jumped to their feet.

  And there’s one more person who we owe a special thanks to,” Abbie said.

  “Mr. Cab,” Pauli shouted.

  “That’s right,” Hadley called out. “He brought this town back.”

  “Amen.”

  “Mr. Cab,” the children squealed.

  Whistles from Jerome and Otis. A fist pump from Sarah and a grin wide enough to light the room. And Abbie knew in that moment that Sarah would never desert the Point. She talked a big game, but her roots, her love, were tied to the people here.

  “We owe it all to Cab Reynolds.”

  “Here, here.”

  “Here’s to young Cab.”

  Applause broke out again. Cab appeared from the back of the room and took a bow straight out of the circus. He straightened up, and his eyes met Abbie’s.

  “To Mr. Cab,” Abbie said.

  Chairs scraped, fabric rustled, and Cab and Abbie were surrounded by people hugging, pumping hands, slapping backs. Gradually people moved out of doors, and Cab and Abbie were left alone.

  “Big night. Congratulations,” said Cab. He looked tired. His cheeks were hollow, and his eyes were bruised from lack of sleep, but he looked happy.

  “Same to you. It was a little rough around the edges but ready to be seen by friends and family and a few sympathetic visitors. How about you? Ready for tomorrow?”

  He smiled mysteriously. “It’s going okay.”

  “I hope it’s going better than okay. Everyone is expecting a ride tomorrow.”

  He grinned. “Including you?”

  “Absolutely including me.”

  “Then why wait?”

  “You’re going to open the carousel tonight?”

  “No. But I’m considering giving you a sneak preview.”

  “Now?”

  “Why not? Everybody is stuffing their faces with barbecue and homemade lemonade. They won’t miss us for a while.”

  “Okay. Let me just tell someone I’m leaving.”

  “There’s Beau and Ervina coming across the lawn. We’ll tell them.” He took her hand and pulled her outside. “I’m taking Abbie for a ride on the carousel. We’ll be back.”

  “Take your time,” Beau said.

  “Do you want to come?” Abbie asked. “After all, you were a big part of the restoration.”

  Beau smiled. “No, thank you. I have something I want to show Ervina upstairs.”

  Cab took Abbie’s hand. “All right. See you later. Save us some barbecue.”

  “Cabot?”

  “Yeah, Beau?”

  “I’d take he
r to sit under Neptune’s tail if I were you.” He smiled, his shock of white hair riding tall over his forehead, then he and Ervina walked into the house. Moses shot out of the shrubbery and raced after them.

  “I wonder what Beau’s going to show her?”

  Abbie thought she knew, but it wasn’t her business to speculate. “What was that about Neptune’s tail?”

  I know I’m taking a chance here,” Cab said as he unlocked the door to the carousel. “But close your eyes.”

  “I won’t run, promise,” she said, blushing slightly as she remembered her first reaction to Midnight Lady. She’d grown to love the carousel over the last few weeks.

  He guided her through the door and stopped there. She could smell the fresh paint, but the room was completely dark.

  “Don’t peek.”

  “I won’t.” She put her hands over her eyes to seal the deal.

  She felt him move away. She didn’t peek. She knew what to expect this time around and she was excited. She heard the click of the lights. Spots danced on the inside of her lids, their heat wrapped around her.

  A bell rang. Ding. It rang again. Ding. Ding.

  The calliope music startled her.

  “Open them.” Cab was standing beside her again.

  She opened her eyes, but she couldn’t take it all in. Couldn’t move, couldn’t speak as the most magnificent cavalcade circled before her. It was amazing.

  “Come on,” Cab yelled over the music. He grabbed her hand, pulled her toward the carousel, and together they jumped to the platform as it whirled past them.

  They stood there, feet braced, holding hands as the walls of the building whirred past in a blur of yellow, red, green, and blue.

  She turned to look at him. He was smiling; proud, exultant, king of the mountain. Peter Pan, he might be, but he was also warm, generous, passionate, someone you could count on. And standing there with the lights swirling about them, she knew that she loved him. She loved him. No sadness, no guilt, no regret overwhelmed her, just the warm colorful lights, the rousing music, and Cab.

  “Look where we’re standing.”

  She looked around. “Where?”

  He gestured to a chariot: Neptune, the sea god’s face on the prow, his cheeks puffed out as he blew up an ocean storm. And behind the chariot his curved green tail formed a canopy over a red bench. A ride for the less adventurous, the old, the young; a ride for lovers.