* * *
Two days passed and Sabrina wanted to speak with Rose again. She read all of the letters, read the journals, and finished the scrapbook. She had a suspicion that the mysterious "D" was Derek West, but she wanted Rose to confirm it.
More than that, for the first time in her life she felt a family connection, a legacy. During the night, as she turned past events over in her head, a plan evolved. Excited, she wanted Rose to approve of her idea.
She couldn't wait to get started, but she dreaded telling Rose that she pried into her personal letters.
Hoping that breakfast would pave the way, she carried a tray with two cups of coffee and toasted, buttered English muffins into the dining room.
"Good morning, Grandmother," she said, smiling. She placed the tray on the nightstand and picked up her coffee mug. "Mmmmm, this smells good."
Rose picked up her dainty, rose-embellished coffee cup. She sipped, then placed it back on the tray. "Thank you, dear. Muffins? You have more faith in my teeth than I do." She tore off a corner and popped it in her mouth.
"I want to talk to you about something. Something I think is important."
"What is it, dear?" Rose asked.
"First, I have something to confess, and second, I have a plan I'd like to discuss. I've done something inexcusable, and you need to know. You also need to understand that I'm not sorry for what I've done; I'm only sorry that it may hurt you."
"Oh my goodness, what have you done?" Rose, thoroughly alarmed now, struggled to sit up.
Sabrina placed a restraining hand on her tiny shoulder. "No; don't get up. I found your journals and your letters. I've read them."
Rose collapsed into the soft pillows, her eyes confused. "My letters?"
Sabrina nodded.
Rose's mouthed twisted, her eyes darted back and forth, then rested on Sabrina. "You mean you've only now found them? You never were a nosy child, were you?"
It was Sabrina's turn to gawk. "You mean, you don't mind?"
Rose laughed gently. "I'm on my deathbed. Well, it could be my deathbed. My secrets have haunted me all my life. Do you think I want to take them to my grave?"
"Tell me about my grandfather. Then tell me about the fire. Tell me about Derek West and his family. Why did you move here to Eaton?"
Rose sighed deeply. "Well, that's going to take awhile. I told you about my father, and how Don stubbornly refused to speak with him. This went on for many years, and after my father died, Don still refused to acknowledge or visit my mother.
"I was lonely and angry and wanted to punish him. Derek and Don were childhood friends, closer than brothers were. I wanted to hurt Don, so I came between them. It was …." Rose paused and wiped a tear. "It was a tragic decision. I killed the man I loved, and I killed his best friend. I can never forgive myself for that."
With this, Rose bowed her head and tears fell silently into her lap.
"Grandmother; I'm so sorry."
"You read the newspaper clipping about the fire? Why do you think they died and I didn't? Don followed me that night and they fought. I got between them but they pushed me away. I must have fallen and hit my head. I blacked out and, to this day, I don't know how the fire started. The police said a kerosene stove had been knocked over. The next thing I knew, I was in the boatyard and the building was on fire. I saw Don running back in, calling to Derek. Then, the roof collapsed and I never saw either of them alive again.
"It's so strange to tell it aloud. For thirty-five years, I've replayed the scene in my head. Not a day goes by that I don't think about Don, and about Derek, and how my foolish, selfish heart killed them both. How could I forgive myself?"
Sabrina let out a deep breath. "My God, Grandmother. All these years, the burden you've been carrying."
"It's mine, child. I've none to blame but myself."
"It was an accident, Grandmother. You didn't start the fire."
"If I hadn't been unfaithful, if I hadn't been with Derek that night, they wouldn't have fought and the fire wouldn't have started. They would not have died. Those are the facts, Sabrina."
"Does my father know?"
"I'm sure he does. He was fifteen then, almost a young man. He read the papers; he knew Derek's family. At the funeral, Faye West, Derek's wife, was hysterical, screaming that it was my fault, that I was a whore and a murderer. I suppose that Norman figured something was wrong when I grabbed his hand and we ran for the car. I never returned. I kept driving until we reached New York. Soon, I bought this house and moved to Eaton. Norman returned to school. We never spoke about it."
Sabrina rocked back and forth in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest.
"It must have been a nightmare for you."
"It still is."
* * *
That evening, Rose suffered another mini stroke and was rushed to the emergency room. Sabrina paced the hospital hall, biting her lip and brushing away tears.
At the sight of Shirley Piper, she nearly collapsed.
"How is she? Is she going to be alright?"
"It's not a serious episode, but like I told you, these TIAs are leading to a major stroke."
"It's my fault," Sabrina wailed, her hands shoved into her jean's pockets.
"Don't be ridiculous," Shirley said. "Your grandmother has enjoyed being with you. I've never seen her so happy."
"No, I mean today, I … she … we were talking about my grandfather and it brought up bad memories. I should never have spoken to her about him."
Shirley patted Sabrina's arm. "Honey; you're here to be with your grandmother through the good and the bad. You both need this time. You're not to blame for the tiny blood clots that move through her brain. Those are the cause of her strokes, not talking to you about the past. Why don't you go in and see her? She's awake and asking for you."
"Thanks, Shirley."
With a deep breath, Sabrina opened the hospital door. Blue-tinged neon light bathed Grandmother Rose. The clear vinyl tube attached to her nose hissed as it fed oxygen into her bloodstream.
Rose's eyes opened and she rested her dreamy gaze on Sabrina.
"Hello. I suppose it happened again?"
"Yes. I'm worried about you. I'm so sorry. I should never have brought up the past."
"Nonsense. It's never far from my mind. I am actually relieved that you know. You're my confessor now."
"Grandmother, I don't want to hurt you."
"You can't, Sabrina. By the way, you never told me your plan."
She cringed. "It's nothing, really."
"Tell me. I need the diversion."
Sabrina squirmed uncomfortably. "I don't think it's a good idea. I've already changed my mind, anyway."
Rose sighed. "Tell me."
"All right. I was thinking about finding Grandfather's first boat, if it still exists, and buying it. If I have something he created I could feel a connection."
Rose's eyes flew open. "How amazing."
"I told you it was a bad idea."
"Indeed, I think it's a wonderful idea. I've often wondered what happened to all those boats. They were quite popular, although the run was short. Your grandfather was a genius, and his boats were beautiful."
"Then you don't mind?"
"Not at all. I wish I'd thought of it. It's a lovely idea."
Sabrina smiled tremulously. "Thank you, Grandmother."
Chapter Three
The gaff-rigged sail of the catboat filled as it slid gracefully from its mooring on the Warren River in Rhode Island. Soon, the teen tacked back and forth in five-knot winds.
"She's beautiful, Jay. Just like the day my daddy bought her for me," the boy's father said, emotion making his voice crack. "Brady's been pestering me for a boat of his own, and I'm glad you talked me into restoring her instead of buying a new dinghy."
Humbled, Jay shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. "You're welcome, Sam. We enjoyed working on a classic Marshall, and the Sandpiper is a nice little boat."
Melinda's eyes fill
ed with pride, and she hugged her husband.
"You don't think it's too much for him, do you," she asked Jay. "Are you sure he can handle it?"
"Catboats are very stable thanks to their wide beam, Melinda. He'll do fine in these winds, but I wouldn't let him go out in anything above fifteen knots. At least, not until he's a bit more experienced. Swimming is a great teacher. Just make sure he wears a life jacket and stays on the river," he said.
"I can't wait to sail her," Sam enthused. "Thanks again," he said, shaking Jay's hand.
"You're welcome." Jay looked at his watch. "Well, I have to lock up now. He's sailing it home, right? You want us to deliver the trailer?"
"Yes; that'd be great. We're going to keep it at the dock for the summer, so just leave the trailer by the garage."
"Right; I'll have Brett drop it off later. See you, folks," he said.
Walking back to the boatyard, Jay whistled under his breath. Sam was a good customer. As commodore of the local yacht club, he often referred Jay's boatyard to its membership.
In the two years he and Brett operated the Warren Boatyard, they kept busy, but busy wasn't enough. They wanted the big, dramatic restoration jobs that brought national attention and mentions in popular sailing magazines. The yacht club had plenty of members and many aging sailboats.
Brett looked up from the rope he'd been splicing. "How'd it go?"
"Perfect. Thanks for giving their son lessons last week. You should have seen their faces. I swear, they almost cried watching him sail off into the sunset."
"Makes it worthwhile, doesn't it?"
Jay patted the folded check in his T-shirt pocket. "That and four grand."
* * *
A weekend spent searching the Internet gave Sabrina's spirit a boost. It turned out that the Zephyrus was now considered a "Classic Plastic," and enjoyed a cult following. She learned that Classic Plastic is another way of saying a well-built fiberglass boat, and that West Wind-designed Zephyrus had timeless appeal. She found several photographs of the double-ended daysailer, each identified by hull number. An advanced search yielded nothing about Hull Number One, her quest.
She drove downtown to Sullivan's, the local bookshop, but found in its place a new store named East of Eaton. She appreciated the shop's name, a play on words and homage to John Steinbeck's classic novel "East of Eden."
She pushed open the heavy oak door and entered a bibliophile's wonderland. Her eyes filled with views of rows upon rows of new bookcases. A staircase wound its way up to a cafe. The aroma of fresh ground coffee beans and chocolate chip cookies assaulted her senses. As she let the door close, she glimpsed a customer behind her. Too late, she shot her arm to hold the door open and instead struck the man in the shoulder.
"Oh, excuse me," she murmured, then froze at the sight of her girlhood crush.
Robert Hall glanced at her with impatience, then paused. "Sabrina?" he asked. "What brings you to Eaton?"
She flushed and fumbled with an apology. "Oh, so sorry. Robert Hall? It's been years since I've last seen you. Rose had a stroke and she's in the hospital. I'm here to take of her."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Robert said, stepping aside to allow yet another customer in the store. "Will she be alright?"
Sabrina chewed her bottom lip, twisted her head away hiding eyes bright with unshed tears. Robert watched as she shrugged, the simple gesture heart wrenching.
"Let's step over here," he said, his hand light on her elbow. He led her to a quiet area of the shop, shielding her from curious customers' view with his broad shoulders.
Not wanting to speak about Rose, afraid she would lose control and cry, she lifted her chin and asked, "How are you, Robert? Did you finish law school?"
He recalled the gangly girl from his summer job at the local rec center. "Yes. Do you still play tennis?"
Sabrina rolled her eyes and shook her head. "No, sorry. Your lessons were wasted on me."
"Where do you live now?" he asked, studying the exotic, beautiful woman.
"I have an apartment in Baltimore where I run a small financial business," she said, watching as Robert looked over his shoulder at the woman at the front counter. He nodded once, as if in silent agreement with her.
Sabrina assessed the woman, noting her delicate beauty even from half across the store. Unruly, dark brown hair crowned her oval face; dark brown eyes watched her curiously.
"Is she your girlfriend?" Sabrina asked, inclining her head.
Robert fastened his dark eyes on her and flashed a grin. "No, that's Erica Moore. We're business partners."
"So you own a part of this bookstore?" Sabrina asked, surveying elegant, expensive yet practical furnishings. "Why am I not surprised?"
He looked at his watch, already withdrawing. "I have a client in a few minutes, but I would be honored if you would have dinner with me while you're in town. Are you free on Friday?"
Sabrina's eyes widened. Robert Hall asking her for a date? Well, dinner. Her lips parted as her breath hitched. "It depends upon Rose. How she's doing by then. Why don't I give you a call later this week?"
Robert pulled a small silver case out of the inner pocket of his expensive suit coat and withdrew a business card. Using a slim Cross fountain pen, he scratched a note on the embossed card. "Here's my cell phone number if you can't reach me at the office," he said, holding out the card.
As Sabrina reached for it, he cupped her hands. Leaning forward, he brushed a soft kiss upon her brow. "Again, I am sorry Rose is ill."
A bit stunned by his closeness and sudden attention, Sabrina could only lift her head and nod. He squeezed her hands gently, then let her go. Whether it was small-town friendliness or something more, Sabrina's knees nearly buckled. She busied herself tucking the business card into her back pocket. She watched as he approached the woman at the counter, spoke for a minute or two, then patted the woman's hand. One again, he reached into his suit pocket and this time extracted some folded documents. He placed them on the counter then left the shop, but not before glancing across the stacks to Sabrina. She flushed as he caught her eye. Busted, she thought. Pretending she hadn't been watching, she lifted her hand in a gesture of farewell.
Frozen with indecision, Sabrina looked at the bookcase in front of her. Why was she here? What was it she wanted?
A few moments later, the shop owner ambled over and extended a hand in greeting. "Welcome to East of Eaton. Are you looking for anything in particular?"
Sabrina blinked a few times, as if clearing her vision. "I'm looking for books on sailboats."
Erica pointed towards the back wall. "There's not a lot on that topic since we're a mountain town, but I do have a couple. They're in the sports and recreation area."
Sabrina thanked her and wandered in the opposite direction. Eventually she made her way back to the sports section and perused the book titles. There were a couple of illustrated books on tying knots, another book on trailer sailing, and yet another on fixing old boats. She picked up the ubiquitous yellow-and-black, how-to manual for "dummies" and leafed through the pages. She opted for the handyman book and the how-to manual, then browsed her way to the popular paperback novels. She pulled a couple bestsellers off the shelves, piled them on her growing stack of books and headed for the cash register.
This time, a petite elder woman worked behind the cash register. Her nametag identified her as "June Duval." She beamed at Sabrina as she placed the books on the counter. The shop owner, Erica, wandered over while June Duval rang up the sale.
"I see you found a few books," she said, glancing at the titles.
Sabrina nodded. "Yes, thanks. You're right, there's not much on sailing but I did find a couple novels since I'll be in town for awhile."
"Robert tells me your grandmother is Rose Windham. I hear she's in the hospital. I hope it's not serious."
Sabrina frowned, her eyes bright again with unshed tears. "I hope so too," she whispered. She nodded her thanks, accepted the paper bag of books and quickly exited the sh
op.
On her drive home, she thought about crushingly handsome Robert Hall. She felt a thrill of excitement at the idea of dinner out with him. Did he know of her schoolgirl crush? Would he be flattered or feel harassed?
* * *
Several days passed with out any clues on the lost Zephyrus sailboat. She created accounts for all the major Internet sailing forums and read comment threads. She placed classified ads in several New England newspapers and even hired a private investigator, hoping that he could find some records, any that hadn't been destroyed in the fire.
Rose, who agreed to stay in the hospital temporarily, monitored her granddaughter's search. "You should look in the attic. I kept several boxes of Don's paperwork that he stored at home. Maybe you can find an old invoice."
Sabrina needed the breakthrough. She located the boxes and after opening one, inhaled the aroma of cherry tobacco, Old Spice and paper. She recognized the carved mahogany pipe that her grandfather clenched between his teeth in every old photograph. She held an old handkerchief to her cheek, reveling in the cologne that still clung to the linen fabric.
She created piles, sorting the papers into stacks of invoices, receipts, lists and business correspondence. The earliest invoice for the selling price of a Zephyrus, $5,000, was dated March 1969, paid in full by someone named Blair.
It's a start, she thought, and tucked the invoice into her pocket. Later, again on the Internet, she searched the online telephone directory for any Blairs living in Rhode Island. She quickly narrowed her search to those living along the coast. She assumed that anyone with a boat needed a place to put it.
She found forty listings and printed the list.
She started with the Blairs (she assumed it would be a man) who lived closest to Warren, where the Zephyrus had been built. On her seventh call, she reached an elderly man. Having polished her speech, Sabrina launched into a quick introduction.
West Wind Page 3
