At Last (The Idle Point, Maine Stories)

by Bretton, Barbara

  "What are you doing?" Sophie asked. She looked like the poster child for perfect behavior.

  "See this spoon?" she asked, handing it to the little girl. "I was thinking that it's so beautiful that it belongs on a queen's table."

  "You don't have a queen in America."

  "No, we don't," Gracie said, swallowing a few terrible jokes about imperial presidencies. "We have a president."

  "Does she eat turkey too?"

  "To be honest, Sophie, we've never had a woman president." She told her a little bit about the man in the White House and how every year he pardons the biggest turkey—of the poultry persuasion—in town.

  "Papa took me to see the Pilgrims yesterday." She wrinkled her nose. "I don't like cranberries."

  What an odd little girl. She could tell you to sod off one moment, then charm you with her almost Victorian manners the next.

  "What are you doing?" Sophie asked. "Are you stealing the silverware?"

  Gracie laughed out loud. "I'm moving it from Rachel's dining table to your grandmother's table. Here," she said, handing the girl a handful of teaspoons. "You can help me."

  Sophie didn't look entirely pleased with the prospect, but to her credit she trooped after Gracie with five teaspoons and a stack of perfectly starched and ironed linen napkins clutched in her hands. I know you, she thought as they arranged the silver at each place. I know all about you. She didn't know all of the details of Sophie's life, but she did know how it was to feel all alone in a very big and scary world, how it felt to wish you fit in. That was why the child struck out the way she did. You didn't need a master's in psychology to figure that one out. Raise a child in chaos and you'll end up with either a people-pleaser like Gracie or little Stands With Fists. The best thing Noah could do was offer her stability and love, both in equal measure. Gramma Del had done that for Gracie and it had made all the difference.

  "My grandmother changed her mind and said families should spend Thanksgiving at home, not in restaurants," Sophie said out of nowhere. "She and Papa yelled at each other this morning." The little girl shuddered. "I don't like yelling."

  "I'm sure they were just having a disagreement."

  "No." Sophie sounded quite positive. "They were very loud. They sounded like my aunt Pamela before she said I had to go away."

  Gracie took a deep breath, crossed her fingers, then jumped in. "My father used to yell all the time when I was a little girl. I used to hide in my closet with my fingers in my ears."

  Sophie considered her for a moment. "I run away."

  "I thought maybe you did."

  "I wish grownups wouldn't yell."

  "I know, Sophie, so do I. But sometimes that's the only way they can make themselves heard."

  Sophie nodded. "Can I carry in the tea cups now?"

  It took Gracie a second to shift gears. "Carefully," she said. "They're china tea cups and very delicate."

  "I'll be careful," Sophie said.

  "Promise?"

  The child nodded. "I promise."

  #

  His mother found Noah in the side yard. He was gathering wood for the fire places in the main dining room.

  "She's very good with Sophie."

  He looked up from a pile of kindling he was separating. "Who is?"

  "Gracie. I heard them talking in the dining room. They were very endearing together."

  He wanted to brush off his mother's comments with a smartass remark but Sophie's welfare was too important for that. "What were they doing?"

  "Setting the table. Gracie was trying to explain why adults raise their voices."

  "Damn it," Noah said, tossing a piece of firewood across the yard. "Sophie heard us this morning."

  "It would appear so."

  "Did she sound very upset?"

  His mother nodded. "She seems to believe loud arguments are the only way adults communicate."

  "I know," he said. "Apparently she heard a lot of them the last few years." He didn't blame Catherine's relatives for not wanting to take on the responsibility of an active, angry little girl. Most of them were in their fifties and sixties, looking forward to retirement and a life of reduced stress and strain.

  "I didn't realize Gracie would be here today."

  He met her eyes. "Yeah," he said, "you did. That's why you cancelled our plans to eat out."

  "The two of you need to talk."

  "A little late for romantic advice."

  "I'm trying to help."

  "And I'm trying to salvage the Gazette and figure out how to be the best father I can be for Sophie. I don't have time for the rest of this."

  She leaned more heavily on her cane. Noah noticed once again that Ruth's life required more effort from her these days than it ever had before. "I've been reading your column, Noah."

  Funny how he hadn't really made the intellectual leap from the act of writing to the discomfort of being read. "Ann Levine is out on medical leave and I was pulled in to sub for her."

  "If what I've read so far is any indication, you are immensely qualified."

  He muttered his thanks. They were private dreams made public before he had realized what he was doing. "Just filling in until we can put together a deal to sell the Gazette." He launched into an explanation about ad space availability and rates but his mother raised her hand to stop him.

  "It's more than that, Noah. You're writing from the heart."

  "I'm writing for a paycheck," he said, trying to deflect her words.

  "You're writing for Gracie Taylor."

  "I'm writing for Sophie."

  "In part, perhaps, but Gracie is at the heart of it all."

  "It happened a long time ago," he said after an uncomfortable silence. "She ended it. I wouldn't have." He had asked a lot of her. He knew that now. Not even love gave a man the right to expect a woman to put aside her dreams and follow him to Paris.

  "A moment ago you said you wanted to salvage the Gazette," Ruth persisted.

  He said nothing.

  "You could do it, if you set your mind to it, Noah. You're talented. You have great vision. You care about—"

  He stopped her with a look. "You asked me to put together a deal with Granite. That's what I'm doing."

  "I've only been the Gazette's caretaker while you were gone, Noah. Now that you're back in Idle Point, you should be the one to decide its fate."

  And the fate of the men and women who were its life's blood. She didn't say those words but Noah heard them just the same. They were a tightly-knit group at the Gazette, second and third generation employees who cared about the craft of journalism as deeply as they cared about their town and each other. The Gazette was a family operation, built on trust and loyalty. Noah's grandfather had understood that. So had Simon. After his death, when the Gazette had been in danger of going under, his mother had stepped into the breach and her warmth and good common sense had kept them afloat.

  Now it was Noah's turn. He knew that if he sold to Granite News, the conglomerate would fold the Gazette into their larger family of newspapers and within a year all of the people he had come to know and care about would be out of work.

  If he didn't sell, he would be committing himself and Sophie to making a life in Idle Point.

  "...she needs a home..." his mother was saying, as if she'd read his mind. "Idle Point is a good place to raise a child."

  Then why did you send me away?

  But there was no point to asking her that, same as there was no point to believing a life in Idle Point was possible for him without Gracie at the heart of it.

  #

  Gracie had grown up to be a lovely young woman. She was still reed-thin, still soft-spoken, but there was strength about her that Ruth found compelling. Ruth had always admired strong women, mainly because she had never considered herself to be one. She had always deferred her desires to Simon's will, keeping his secrets, dreaming his dreams. Her rebellions had been sly rather than decisive, and the repercussions devastating. There was the sense about Gracie t
hat she could handle what life threw her way.

  Except when she looked at Noah.

  Oh, she was discreet about it. Her glances were quick and well-concealed but the longing in her eyes when she looked at him cut Ruth to the quick. They were all seated at the long cherry wood table in Ruth's little-used dining room with two satellite tables set up for the children at either end. Rachel didn't believe in place cards. Seating was a matter of friendly negotiation and a touch of pushing and shoving that made for much good-natured teasing and laughter. The fact that when all was said and done, Gracie and Noah were seated opposite each other escaped no one.

  The connection between them was almost palpable. Soul mates, Ruth thought, not for the first time. She felt the weight of the eight years they had lost in every corner of her being. She told herself that it hadn't been her fault. She had been hurt by Simon's actions too. Noah and Gracie couldn't possibly blame her for all they had lost.

  Gracie's eyes had filled with tears when she turned and saw Ruth walk through the back door. "Mrs. Chase!" she had exclaimed, then dashed over to say hello. Her gaze lingered on the elegant cane Ruth had been using since the hip replacement that spring.

  "Don't worry," Ruth said, "I won't break. Now come give me a hug, Gracie Taylor."

  "Chanel No. 5," Gracie said, laughing as they hugged. "Do you know that I always think of you when I smell Chanel No. 5?" There had been nothing but love and respect in the young woman's demeanor and Ruth felt singularly unworthy of either gift.

  #

  Gracie swore she could feel her heart grow two sizes larger as she glanced around Rachel's table. How could she have stayed away from Idle Point and these beloved people for so long? She felt more connected to the world here in this tiny seacoast town than she ever had in the middle of Manhattan.

  Rachel Adams raised her glass and smiled at the guests assembled around her dining room table. "I'm thankful for each and every one of you, those related to me by blood and those by my own good fortune." She turned to her husband.

  Darnell stood up and held his glass high. "I'm thankful for another year spent in the company of the people I love." He turned to Laquita.

  Laquita squeezed Ben's hand then raised her glass. "I'm grateful for every second I've been granted with this wonderful man—" she looked toward Gracie "—and for my renewed friendship with his daughter."

  The chain of thanks moved its way around the table. Gracie found herself giving thanks that she was at the end of the line. Who would have suspected that the hippie family down by the river was actually the Waltons in disguise? She looked across the table at Ben. How well he fit in with the family. He was an odd cross between patriarch and peer and it suited him down to the ground.

  Noah stood up and raised his glass. "I'm thankful I found my daughter Sophie and that I had sense enough to bring her home to Idle Point."

  He looked at Gracie then sat down again. It wasn't like she had expected him to mention her. Still, she felt disappointed.

  Sophie pressed her face against Noah's shoulder and refused to talk, as did Sage's son Will.

  Doctor Jim stood and turned toward Gracie. "Come home where you belong, Doctor Taylor. My door is always open to you." He was thankful for the gift of love his late wife Ellen had given to him, for friends, for good food, for life renewing itself in unexpected ways.

  Finally it was Gracie's turn. Twenty-four people lifted their glasses in anticipation of something witty or profound as befit her new big-city-girl persona. She raised her glass, ready to offer her thanks for the wonderful welcome, and to her horror, she found herself so overcome by emotion she could barely speak.

  "I'm thankful to all of you for making room for me at your table. I hope to be able to make room for you at mine one day."

  The room burst into applause and laughter but all she saw was the look in Noah's eyes.

  #

  Sophie made it clear that she wasn't sure what she thought of the turkey or the stuffing but she loved the yams and the mashed potatoes. She sat perfectly straight in her chair, looking like an angel in her navy blue velvet jumper and frilly white blouse. The snowy napkin lay neatly on her lap. She handled her knife and fork with a distinctly European flair that had everyone showering her with compliments. Whoever had taught his daughter table manners had done a great job. Noah was prouder of her facility with a knife and fork than he was of any of his own accomplishments.

  "I think we have a vegetarian in the making," Ruth observed as she placed her utensils across her plate and leaned back in her chair.

  "The aunt who took care of her last year is a vegetarian." Giselle was a perfectly lovely sixty-year-old woman who didn't want the responsibility of raising her niece's child. He couldn't fault Giselle for that; her niece had felt the same way.

  Sophie tugged at his sleeve. "When is the dessert?"

  "First dinner, then dessert," he said.

  "Even on Thanksgiving?"

  "Even then."

  Sophie looked across the table at Gracie. "Do you like cranberries?"

  Gracie nodded. "As long as they're soaked in sugar. It's the American way."

  Sophie giggled. "You put marshmallows on your potatoes."

  "Candied yams." She leaned across the table and lowered her voice to a stage whisper. "Don't tell anyone but I eat ice cream cake for breakfast on my birthday."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, but that's after my tuna salad sandwich. First the healthy stuff, then dessert."

  "You eat tuna for breakfast?" Sophie looked shocked.

  "Sometimes," Gracie said. "And some nights I eat cereal for supper."

  Sophie seemed downright enchanted. "When I'm grown up, I'll have trifle for breakfast every day of the week."

  "You might want to mix a little protein in there," Gracie said, tapping her forehead with her index finger. "You need to keep the brain cells well-fed."

  "I have a lot to think about," Sophie said and his heart did one of those little half-twists that seemed to happen every time she opened her mouth and spoke.

  "Yes, you do," Gracie said. "Life is very complicated, isn't it?"

  Sophie nodded. "It is!"

  Sophie seemed happier and more relaxed than he had ever seen her. Gracie had a way of talking with his daughter that worked magic. She didn't condescend. She didn't patronize. She talked with Sophie the way she talked with Doctor Jim or his mother and apparently Sophie sensed the difference and responded in kind.

  His mother reached over and patted his hand. "Don't worry," she said softly. "It will work itself out."

  "I know," he said, but he was lying.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sleeping Adamses and their friends were scattered from one end of the den to the other. Rachel and Darnell had shooed everyone out of the kitchen while they finished cleaning up and Gracie laughed as the clan beat a hasty retreat. Ben and Laquita were napping on the sofa with one of Wiley's offspring curled up between them. The football game droned on in the background but nobody seemed to be paying any attention to it. Sage, Morocco, and Joe—and their offspring—were outside playing a game of touch with two of their sisters while Cheyenne and Storm retreated to the sewing room to work on their dresses. They begged Gracie to let them do one more fitting on the pants suit Rachel was assembling for her but Gracie said if she tried it on tonight they would have to let out all of the seams.

  Ruth had excused herself to go upstairs and rest. Noah and Sophie had just plain disappeared. Gracie felt restless and unsettled. The house, big as it was, felt too small to contain her emotions and she found herself craving a lonely sweep of rocky beach. How wonderful to be able to walk out a door and step onto the beach. Everyone had said she was crazy to keep a car in the city but she had needed the means to escape whenever the noise and the crowds became too much for her. Taking the subway to Coney Island or the bus to Rockaway wasn't the same as driving east through Queens, past the Elmhurst tanks and the old World's Fair, LIE to Cross Island to Southern State where she fol
lowed the signs to Jones Beach. That wide, smooth expanse of civilized sand was nothing like the unforgiving beaches of her childhood but knowing that the same ocean crashed against the shores of Idle Point soothed her soul.

  She grabbed her coat from the hall closet then let herself out the back door, the one that led out into the garden. Two late roses, blood red and just beginning to unfurl, bloomed near the stairs. Beach roses used to line the path to the rocky beach by the lighthouse. Once upon a time, in another life, Noah had trailed a beach rose over the curve of her hip, the line of her thigh. The gesture was both sensually charged and painfully sweet, the kind of gesture a woman never forgot. She remembered the look in his eyes, the faint smell of salt on his skin, the callused tip of his index finger, the velvety softness of the petals of the rose against her bare skin. If the world had ended at that very moment, she would have died knowing her life had been blessed beyond measure.

  She didn't have him—she couldn't—but she had those memories and sometimes she even managed to convince herself that those memories were enough.

  #

  Sophie was fearless. She flew across the rocky beach in her fancy velvet dress and heavy parka as if she had been born there in Idle Point instead of on the other side of the ocean.

  "Sophie, be careful!" he shouted into the wind. "The rocks are slippery!"

  She didn't hear him. He probably wouldn't have been able to hear a warning at her age either. She was so small, a tiny scrap of humanity against the enormity of the wind and tides. If he had his way, he would lock her in the house until she was forty.

  She leaped from rock to rock, arms outstretched, mimicking the gulls that swooped and soared overhead. She reminded him of Gracie as a little girl, so filled with physical energy and enthusiasm that the span of her arms reached the edges of the world.