The Color of Light

by White, Karen

  Linc had gone to Charleston for the long weekend, and she found herself aching for him. Jillian smiled to herself, remembering their night together and feeling her hunger for him. It wasn’t the need she’d had for Rick all those years ago; that had merely been the need to escape. No, the need she felt for Linc went much deeper, rooted with her need of air and food.

  The screen door slammed shut, making Ford start as Gracie raced back out on the porch, the glass jar held out in her hands. She stopped in front of Jillian and held up the jar, her lower lip trembling. “She can’t open her wings all the way because the jar’s too small.”

  Jillian squatted down and took the jar. “What do you think we should do?”

  Grace squinted up at her mother in the fading light. “We need to let her go.”

  Softly, Jillian said, “I think you’re right.”

  They decided they would set Constance free at the creek, and while Jillian bent to unhook Ford from the baby swing, she sent Grace back into the house to get the front carrier Jillian would wear to hold the baby.

  As she waited with Ford in her arms, swaying lightly with the breeze, she looked down at the beach, past the thick stand of white-tipped Spanish bayonets and brushy patches of saltwort, and spotted Janie Mulligan standing still and alone at the mouth of the collapsed dune.

  Baby was in her front carrier as always, the straggly yellow hair tossed about in the wind. It was hard to see at that distance, but Jillian was quite sure Janie’s lips were moving and her head was nodding, as if she were talking to some unknown companion. Jillian watched in silence as Janie turned around toward the surf, then walked slowly away, her head and shoulders bowed, her feet kicking sand behind her.

  There was something so familiar about the way she moved, about the way her back arched and her feet splayed as she struggled through the dunes to the packed sand of the surf. It struck Jillian as odd when she couldn’t think of what was so familiar about it, and she wondered why she’d never noticed it before.

  Gracie raced out again, followed by the expected slam of the screen door, and handed her mother the carrier. “What if Constance doesn’t know what to do when we let her out of the jar?”

  Jillian sat down with the baby lying across her lap and began tying the carrier around her neck and waist. She paused for a moment, thinking about what she should say. “I think all of God’s creatures are born with a certain knowing. For animals and insects like Constance, it’s a knowing of how to find things to eat or seek shelter or even fly. It’s passed down to them generation to generation, from mommies and daddies to their babies. It’s a way of taking care of their children, really, that’s inborn in every single creature.”

  Grace looked at her baby brother with a frown. “But what about people? Ford doesn’t know how to do anything except pee in his diaper and drink milk.”

  Jillian smiled. “Well, yes, but there’s more, too.” She tried not to think of her own dark childhood, of unmet wants and needs and black closets. But always, always there had been hope. Maybe God had made sure that she had been given an abundance of hope and a grandmother who would make it grow. And now, when she looked into the faces of her two children, she thought she could finally understand why.

  “I think all babies are born trusting in their parents to take care of them—to pick them up when they cry or feed them when they’re hungry. They somehow know that things will work out—even though sometimes it’s not quite clear right away. Sometimes it takes time to figure it out.” And then Jillian thought of something her grandmother had once told her. Sometimes mothers can only do their best. It’s all God ever asks of us. And all he can expect with what we’re given.

  She looked away and spotted the distant shape of Janie Mulligan, remembering the beautiful flowers and faded rag doll that the older woman mothered blindly but with so much love.

  Lifting Ford into the carrier, she turned to Gracie. “Come on—grab the jar and let’s get this done before it gets too much darker.” The purpling sky loomed above them, the first stars of the evening shining faintly, and she felt a part of her fear diminish, as if a light from another source shone around her.

  They crossed the street and walked down the boardwalk to the creek at low tide, the muddy earth seeming to melt into dark water. A mass of moving fiddler crabs scurried away from the dock, disturbed by the approach of footsteps.

  Jillian and Grace squatted at the edge of the boardwalk, their eyes meeting over the lid of the jar.

  Jillian smiled at her daughter. “Are you ready?”

  Gracie nodded, her expression serious. Slowly, she unscrewed the lid and moved it away, then stared with expectation at the lip of the jar. At first, Constance did nothing but flutter her wings a couple of times. Yes, thought Jillian. It’s hard flying off the first time. But you’ll be fine.

  Leaning over, Gracie spoke to the insect. “Fly, Constance. Fly away.”

  The butterfly fluttered her wings a few more times, seemingly to sample the fresh air above her, then lifted off her branch into the space between Jillian and Grace before disappearing in the dusk over the marsh.

  Gracie stood, watching her butterfly vanish, her face turned toward the sky. She clasped her hands together in front of her, a broad smile on her face. “Did you see that, Mommy? She remembered how to fly!”

  Jillian stood and brushed the hair out of her eyes. “Yes, she sure did.”

  She helped Gracie gather up the jar and lid and begin the journey back home. It wasn’t until much later that she realized what Gracie had called her, and how long Jillian had known it to be true.

  CHAPTER 20

  JILLIAN SAT ACROSS FROM MARTHA WEBER AT THE WEBERS’ KITCHEN table, poring over several ancient low country cookbooks and old recipe cards, jotting down notes and ideas for a prospective menu. Her plans had already progressed from catering out of her own kitchen to a full-fledged bakery with a small lunchtime restaurant. She’d even found a place in the Litchfield Beach area that seemed the perfect spot.

  She took a sip of her coffee and looked over at Martha, who was holding Ford and making a big deal out of his cooing. He was perfectly content where he was, lying supine in the lap of luxury and being doted on by the women in his life. Martha tickled his chin, making him laugh, so she did it again.

  Jillian smiled. “Guess you didn’t find that recipe, huh?”

  Martha shook her head with a grin, her eyes not leaving Ford’s face. “No, sorry. I was busy.”

  Leaning back in her chair, Jillian watched the laughing baby and doting woman. “All I need to do is give that boy a TV remote, and he’ll be ready for manhood. Just like his daddy.”

  Martha raised her eyebrows. “Speaking of which, where is Rick today?”

  “He spent all morning with Gracie, but he said he had to work for the rest of the day. Personally, I think he’s over at the Pelican Inn trying to soothe his sunburned skin. He got himself and Gracie real burned yesterday at the beach.” She held up her hand. “Not that I’m complaining. Gracie had a wonderful time. I think she enjoys having a man around.”

  Martha nodded. “Well, there’s certainly things a child could only learn from a man. Mason could surely teach them a thing or two about the remote.” She looked up at Jillian and said, “Or Linc.”

  Jillian felt her cheeks flush, but didn’t say anything.

  Softly, Martha said, “So it’s that way between the two of you, is it? Poor Mason.”

  “Martha, it’s not that Mason’s lacking in any way. . . .”

  Martha shook her head. “You don’t need to explain a thing, dear. We all have to follow where our hearts lead and not the other way around. Your grandmother told me that once, you know.”

  “Smart lady.”

  “Yep, that she was, God rest her soul. And don’t worry about Mason. He’ll get over it, because that’s what he’s supposed to do. But I don’t doubt I’ll live the heartache with him.” She studied Jillian carefully for a moment. “You’ll find with your son that you s
hare a special bond. Not that the one you share with your daughter is any less special—it’s just different and completely unexpected.”

  Jillian looked down at her hands, pressed flat against the table in a spot between cookbooks. They were the same hands she remembered, the same ones that had looked so much like her grandmother’s. She liked them, she decided then. She liked them not only because they were a link to her grandma Parrish, but also because they were flat and square and capable of doing all the things Jillian had never thought she could.

  She smiled up at Martha. “I’m finding bonds with both children that are completely unexpected. I didn’t have . . .” She couldn’t finish and looked down at her hands again.

  Martha stood and moved Ford to the baby swing that had been used for Lessie’s children. “I know, dear. And you’re not to blame for any of that. Do you have any contact at all with your parents now?”

  “Not really. I send them a Christmas card each year with a picture of Grace, and my dad calls on my birthday, but that’s pretty much it.”

  Martha switched on the swing and gave it a gentle push before returning to the table. “I’m wondering if you should invite them down here. To see the children, to see you. To see you as you are now.”

  Dread, fear and nausea seemed to ball up inside at once, and Jillian found her hands clenched without any recollection of doing it. “No. Never. I’ve found a haven for me and my children. I can’t let them destroy it for us.”

  Martha turned warm eyes on her. “But I think the haven you’ve found has been there all along—on the inside. You choose who you let in or out. It’s harder when you’re a child because a child lets everyone in. But you’re an adult now. Maybe it’s time for you to face them as an adult and realize that you don’t need to be afraid anymore.”

  Her fingernails bit into her palms. “No.” She shook her head vigorously. “I can’t. I won’t.”

  With a pat on Jillian’s arm, Martha stood and started stacking books. “I understand, dear. I won’t bring it up again.” She moved to the large kitchen window that looked out toward the ocean. “Would you like some more coffee?”

  “I’ll get it.” Jillian stood, too, and moved next to Martha at the window, and they both looked out. She spotted Gracie and Mary Ellen crouched over something in the sand and was surprised to see Janie Mulligan with them, standing above them and pointing. She wore a wide-brimmed straw hat that obscured her face, but Jillian could tell she was talking because the two young girls were nodding as if in agreement with something Janie was saying. She noticed with amusement that Baby was being worn on Gracie’s back. The doll’s head fell forward as Gracie leaned down so that it looked like Baby was peering over her shoulder at whatever had captured the girls’ attention.

  Jillian glanced over at Martha. “How long has Janie had Baby?”

  Martha pursed her lips for a moment as if in deep thought. “Well, I know she didn’t have it when she was a little girl. I would have remembered that because I used to see Janie just about every single day when her mama was alive. We were real close.”

  She unscrewed the lid of the coffee thermos and filled up Jillian’s mug before filling her own. “I’m thinking it must have been while she was at the convent school in Charleston. She was fifteen years old, but maybe her mother gave it to her when she left home as a sort of security blanket. I guess now Baby reminds Janie of her mother. It’s all she’s got left, you know. Except for her house, of course.”

  “And her flowers,” Jillian murmured absently, remembering the beautiful and garish colors in Janie’s backyard. Her gaze flicked toward the sky, at the heavy clouds that seemed to be hugging the horizon. “I think it’s going to rain again.”

  Jillian watched as Janie pulled out Baby’s blanket from the carrier, then knelt in the sand. She wrapped something inside the blanket before standing again, carrying the bundle with as much care as a mother holds her newborn for the first time.

  Janie and the two girls turned and started making their way toward the house. Mary Ellen and Gracie broke into a run and ran the rest of the way, but Janie kept her pace slow, the bundle secure in the crook of her arm. Once again, Jillian was struck by something familiar about the way Janie moved. She frowned, trying to think of what it was.

  The screen door swung open as the girls spilled into the kitchen, talking excitedly at the same time. Martha put an arm around both of them to try and calm them down. “Now that you’ve found your breath, how about one of you telling me what you’re both so excited about?”

  Mary Ellen began to jump up and down, and Grace frowned furiously at her. “I found it, so I get to tell.”

  “But she’s my grandmother.”

  They paused in their arguing when Janie reached the screen door and stood behind it, looking through to the kitchen. “Knock, knock,” she said, her smile wide and innocent and reminding Jillian of Gracie.

  Jillian called out a greeting, then opened the door and let her in. Everyone watched as Janie shyly glanced around her before approaching the table and gently putting down the blanket in the middle of it. Sand cascaded onto the table as she slowly unfolded the blanket. When she was done, Jillian spotted the small, Ping-Pong-sized white egg sitting in the middle of the blanket.

  Martha turned to Mary Ellen and Gracie with a look of reproach. “Oh, girls. Did you take this from a nest?”

  Gracie shook her head vigorously. “Oh, no, Mrs. Weber. We know not to do that. We were playing on the beach and saw it. We looked everywhere for the nest but couldn’t find it. Miss Janie thinks it was stolen from its nest and then accidentally dropped.”

  Jillian moved closer to get a better look. “It doesn’t seem to be cracked or anything. I’m wondering if we rebury it if it will have a chance.”

  As if in answer to her question, a small roll of thunder came from outside, followed closely by the tapping of rain against the tin roof. Martha began wrapping the blanket around the egg again. “Well, it will have to wait until after the rain’s stopped. For now, we’ll just have to keep it warm.”

  Janie laid her hands on Martha’s, stopping her. Her voice was light and breathless. “I’ll do that.”

  Martha nodded and stepped back, and they all watched as Janie carefully brought the ends of the baby blanket up and across in intricate folds, like a baby’s swaddling. “I’ll find where the baby goes. I know sometimes babies are taken from nests and that’s a very sad thing. Her mommy is probably missing her a lot right now.”

  Martha and Jillian exchanged glances but didn’t say anything.

  Janie continued. “I need to find the right nest, because if I don’t the other mommy won’t take care of this one and might hurt it.”

  Martha put her arm around Janie’s shoulders. “Sweetie, loggerheads lay their eggs and bury them, then swim out to sea. They never know their babies.”

  Janie frowned and shook her head. “No. All mommies know their children. I’d never forget if my baby was stolen from my nest. I’d find her and I’d take care of her.”

  The two young girls were looking from Martha to Janie, as if waiting for someone to say it was all a joke and that they could have the egg back. But no one spoke. Jillian watched as Mary Ellen took Gracie’s hand and led her silently from the room.

  A car door shut outside and then Mason appeared at the back door, rain running off his uniform hat. His smile faded slightly when he caught sight of Jillian. She remembered the last time she’d seen him, when he’d come upon her and Linc in the sand, and she felt herself color. “Hi, Mason,” she said as she began to gather the remaining cookbooks and recipe cards and shove them into her tote.

  He greeted his mother and Janie, then turned to Jillian. “Hi, Jillian. Good to see you again.”

  “You, too. You should stop by soon. I’ve been experimenting with Brunswick stew and I’ve got tons of it in my freezer. I’d be happy to give you some.”

  “I will. Thanks.” A roll of thunder rattled the sky outside.

  �
�Well, I’ve got to be off. It’s getting dark, and the children will want to be fed.”

  Mason turned to peer out the screen door. “I didn’t notice your car. Do you need a ride home in the rain?”

  Having to force a conversation with Mason was the last thing she wanted to do, but when she followed his gaze, she saw that the rain was now coming down in sheets. She could walk through the rain, but not with her children. Without looking up at him, she said, “Actually, that would be nice. But you just got here. I don’t mind waiting if you want to visit with your mother.”

  He rolled the brim of his hat in his hands briefly before speaking. “Actually, I wasn’t making a social call. I was looking for William Rising. I’ve been everywhere else and I can’t seem to find him, so I thought I’d try here. Mama always seems to know where everybody is.”

  Jillian waited for Mason to explain why he was looking for Linc, but he didn’t elaborate. Martha reached up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Sorry to disappoint you, dear, but I haven’t seen him.”

  Jillian lifted the tote to her shoulder. “Actually, he’s gone to Charleston for the long weekend. He’s behind with his paperwork and needed the time to catch up while the workmen here were taking a three-day break.”

  Both Martha and Mason looked at her with the same expression—each looking as if they wanted to ask her how she would know so much about William Rising’s whereabouts.

  “He’ll be back Tuesday,” she added weakly. She smiled and her gaze met Janie’s, who’d been standing silently behind her, as if to escape being noticed. Jillian touched the older woman on the elbow and turned back to Mason. “Would you mind driving Janie, too?”

  His face seemed to soften as he looked at her, making Jillian feel guilty and awful all over again. “Not a problem. Let me go find Mary Ellen’s old car seat and stick it in my car for Ford. Mama doesn’t throw anything away, so I’m sure it’s here somewhere.”