Season of Angels (9781101612170)
Page 25
“All for a good cause,” he reminded her. He smiled and briefly touched her shoulder. “I won’t say good-bye now. I’ll look for you in church on Christmas, okay?”
“I’ll be there,” she promised. “See you then, Reverend.”
There were no volunteers at the table next to theirs that sold pine wreaths, centerpieces, and roping. But soon after Reverend Ben had gone, Adele noticed Sam’s wife, Jessica, and her sister, Emily Warwick, along with their two young daughters, Lily and Jane. Emily was just as Adele remembered her, tall and slim with smooth brown hair and bright blue eyes. She was about ten years older than Jessica, but didn’t look her age; she never had. Adele guessed that her daughter Jane was about seven now, a lively little girl with blue-gray eyes and reddish-gold hair.
The women rushed into the room, each holding their little girls firmly by the hand, as they searched out and consulted with Sophie. Sophie directed them to the table full of pine. Lily was the first to notice her great-grandmother. Though she didn’t seem to think it was unusual to see her there, which Adele found amusing.
“Grandma Addie! What are you selling? Can we help you?” Lily asked.
“Of course you can. I definitely need some good helpers today.” She bent to receive her sweet kisses and hugs. How that made her day. Thank you, God, for this, she said silently.
When she stood up, Jessica was there, too. She also gave Adele a kiss and hugged her warmly.
“Grandma, are you really working here today? Does Sam know? He didn’t tell me.”
“I kept planning to go home all week. But somehow, here I am,” Adele explained.
She had spoken to both Molly and Sam a few times since Saturday. They had both been concerned about her, but a little distant, too, she thought. “I told Sam I would let him know when I left, but so far that hasn’t happened, as you can see.”
“We’re still having our family party on Christmas Eve. If you’re here, you must join us.”
Adele wanted to go to the party, but if Joe was going to be there, she didn’t want to spoil everything again with another scene.
Jessica seemed to sense this dilemma and quickly said, “I don’t know if you’ve heard from Sam’s father. But he still isn’t speaking to Sam or Molly . . . or any of us, actually. So we don’t expect him. Molly is coming with her crew, and my sister and her family will be there.” Jessica glanced at Emily, who stood arranging their merchandise into neat rows.
“Oh, that sounds wonderful,” Adele said honestly. “But I don’t have gifts. I haven’t done any real shopping—”
“Please don’t worry about that. The kids already get too many gifts, and the adults don’t need a thing. We just want you with us. That will be our gift,” Jessica insisted. She was a very sweet woman. Her grandson had chosen well, Adele thought.
Despite all the strife and drama, at her age could she really pass up a chance to spend such a lovely night with her family? Adele didn’t think she could.
“If you don’t want to drive at night, Sam will come and get you,” Jessica added, leaving Adele no way to refuse.
“All right. I’ll be happy to come. Thank you, Jessica.”
“Please don’t thank me, Grandma. That’s what Christmas is about. That’s what families are about. It’s time we all started remembering that.”
Before Adele could reply, Emily waved hello and then beckoned her sister back to the table. There seemed some question to decide with their girls, and Jessica’s input was needed.
Claire bustled back and came to stand beside her. “Sorry I abandoned you, Addie. I made some cinnamon bread for the bake sale and forgot all about it in the car. Is everything all right?”
“Everything is just fine. And I wanted to thank you,” Adele added, “for persuading me to stay. I think staying out the week here was the right thing to do.”
“Well, that’s good then.” Claire didn’t seem at all surprised as she checked the price on a sticker under an old pocket watch. “Look at this old watch. I wonder if it still runs.” She wound the stem, held it to her ear, and then put it down. “I often wonder what sort of watch God carries in His pocket . . . I know His sense of timing is rarely in sync with ours.”
That was very true, Adele thought, and worth remembering.
Sophie opened the doors to the Fellowship Hall, and the first customers walked in. Adele and Claire were happily occupied the rest of the afternoon. There wasn’t much time for conversation. Or more worrying about family troubles. Which, Adele had decided, could not solve anything.
* * *
Jonathan was alone at the inn on Saturday afternoon, though the stillness all around him did not help his concentration. All he could think about was Tess and how stupid he had been to hurt her feelings just for the sake of protecting his research. He had been so excited about this study and the original eyewitness evidence he had found here, but none of that seemed very important now. So much of the excitement, he now realized, had been working with her, their unexpected but synergistic partnership. He had avoided Lilac Hall ever since their argument. Her rejection had been a blow, and he wasn’t ready to face her again. He wasn’t sure if he ever would be.
He had enough materials at the inn to keep him busy for a few days more. Particularly, the Hegman letters, which were slow going. He had transcribed four of the five pages so far. Though few women of her time were taught to read and write, Mary Hegman clearly had a talent for it. Her descriptions of her surroundings and the people she had been confined with were rich with detail—the rough huts and sparse provisions and the deep faith that sustained them. She thanked God continually that her child had survived and that she was strong enough to nurse him.
He was finding it surprisingly hard to read these reports of hardship and sacrifice, even though it had all happened hundreds of years ago and these people were long gone from this world. He was no stranger to the scrutiny of hard times and even violent events. But for some reason this time Jonathan felt the personal accounts of this epidemic and quarantine penetrate his heart. He had lost some protective force field, some emotional armor he had never even realized had been there. Perhaps it was his scholarly objectivity.
It was all about Tess and his feelings for her. She’s robbed me of my super-scholar powers, he tried to joke to himself.
Jonathan picked up his magnifying glass and forced himself to focus on the last letter. All he had was a single page, though it appeared that the missive had been longer. It began with Mary’s usual greetings to her husband, with hopes that he was still healthy and getting by without her. But toward the bottom of the page she began to talk about “an odd happening here and surely, there was God’s hand in it.”
That line caught his eye and he eagerly read on, though the faded ink and scrawling writing was doubly frustrating to him now.
She wrote that Joshua Swift, a farmer they both knew from the settlement who was also quarantined, had been so near death, “a shallow grave had been prepared for him in a patch of sandy earth, just beyond the encampment, where the departed have been laid to rest while the ground remains frozen.
“But next morning, Joshua Swift walked about freely, fully healed. Even the violent boils that erupted on his face and arms had vanished while my own persist these long weeks. People speak of two visitors who came in the night. How they rowed ashore, we cannot fathom. The sea was high and a storm swept over the island through the night, likely to dash a small boat to pieces. Indeed, this man and woman did not appear to have come by sea, though they delivered several barrels of grain and dried cod and even one of apples. Blankets, much needed, as well.
“They walked about in thick dark cloaks and fine boots, no better to be found at the King’s boot maker. Some say even the sandy earth did not soil them and that they moved in a heavenly light. They walked from hut to hut, searching for the sick ones and . . .”
Jonathan felt a lump in his throat. Visitors? In fine clothes? What could this mean?
It still doesn’t mean that the visitors were angels, he reminded himself. There must be some logical explanation for all this. Or perhaps in her grief and sickness, Mary Hegman was delusional.
Though throughout the other four pages of her letters, Jonathan had to admit that she seemed very sane and rational in all she thought and reported.
He felt a pang of longing deep inside. He wanted to call Tess, so he could share this discovery. He could just imagine her reaction. Yes, she would say it proved him wrong. But they would discuss the importance of these spare, faded lines of writing, the possible significance. If only he could talk this all over with Tess, Jonathan knew he would enjoy this discovery so much more.
As it was, he felt a bit overwhelmed now . . . and confused. As if the rug had been pulled out from under him in more ways than one.
He gazed out the window over his desk at a sweeping view of the shoreline and sea. He couldn’t help but remember their walk to the angel cliffs, how they had stood on that very peak and kissed, with just blue sky all around them.
He had lost his heart to her that day and left it up there in the clouds somewhere. Nothing in his life would ever be the same again. Jonathan knew he had a lot more work to do here. He had to go over the letter many more times and transcribe every word and punctuation mark, even the spelling errors and crossed-out words.
But he was too worn out to start that tedious process. He took off his glasses and got up from the desk. Then he headed downstairs, thinking a cup of tea and one of Claire’s home-baked treats might lift his spirits and give him a little more energy.
He had just put the kettle on when Liza came into the kitchen through the back door. She was carrying a basket of packages that all bore the colorful label of the Gilroy Goat Farm.
She took off her jacket and scarf and hung them on a chair. “Have you been inside all day working, Jonathan? You ought to get out for a while. It’s beautiful weather again today.”
“Yes, I think I will. A walk on the beach will clear my head. I’ve been going over some very . . . intense material today,” he told her. The kettle whistled, saving him from having to explain more. “Would you like some tea, Liza?” he asked, fixing himself a mug.
“In a minute. I’m going to put this food away.” She started unpacking the basket, setting the items on the table. There were round packages of goat cheese and big bars of freshly made soap. The farm’s trademark lavender scent filled the room. Jonathan suddenly remembered that he had stopped at the farm on Monday morning before he and Tess had broken up. He bought her a small gift there—a heart-shaped wreath made of lavender and wildflowers that he thought she would like. He didn’t know what he would do with it now.
“I guess Claire and Adele are at the fair.” Liza glanced at him as he sat at the table with his mug. “I didn’t get a chance to go this year. They should be back soon.”
The fair. Claire and Adele had been talking about it all week. Jonathan had meant to visit them there, but he had totally forgotten. “Is that today? I meant to go, too, but it slipped my mind entirely.”
Liza laughed. “Sometimes you’re like an absentminded professor, Jonathan. I think we have to take care of you.”
Jonathan smiled. At least somebody was.
“You do remember that Christmas is coming two days from now, right?” She teased him in a good-natured tone as she put the packages of cheese in the refrigerator. Before he could answer, she added, “We would love to have you join us if you’re free.”
Christmas . . . now there was another painful topic. He had been looking forward to spending Christmas Eve with Tess and her family. But he was sure that they weren’t expecting him now. How could he stay here, knowing that he could have been with Tess? He didn’t think he could do it. It was best to just leave town, even if he wasn’t completely finished with his research.
“Thank you . . . I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful holiday here. But I’m definitely going back to Boston by Christmas. I just . . . really need to get back. I hear there’s snow coming,” he added, reaching for any excuse.
“Oh, that won’t be much. Just a flurry or two. It might even pass us altogether,” Liza added.
Jonathan had heard the same report. She must know he was making an excuse. He could see that Liza sensed there was more to the story, but she didn’t pry.
“If you change your mind, even at the last minute, we would love to have you. It’s no trouble to set another place for you, Jonathan,” she assured him.
Jonathan forced a smile. They were so kind here. Sometimes he thought he could stay at this place forever. But he knew that the sooner he left, the better.
* * *
“Will you check the room upstairs, Tess? I think there’s still someone working up there.” Mrs. Fisk checked the sign-in book at the visitors’ desk. “Yes, one more to go. Dan Forbes,” she said, naming one of their regular visitors.
And one of the only people who would spend the entire Saturday before Christmas at Lilac Hall. Ten years ago, Dan had given the reins of the village newspaper, the Cape Light Messenger, to his daughter Lindsay. He now spent his time writing books on local history. He was married to Emily Warwick, the town’s long-running mayor. Tess was acquainted with him from his many visits here. She wondered why he had never focused on the Marsh Fever epidemic and the quarantine on Angel Island. He probably would be a good person for Jonathan to interview, she thought as she climbed the stairs. Dan knew so much about the history around here, especially during the colonial period.
But Jonathan would just have to do without one more connection from her. She didn’t want to speak to him or even send an e-mail. The way he had acted with his friend Leslie—or whatever she was to him—had hurt her so much, even though he tried to apologize and kept asking her to meet him in order to talk things out. What was there to talk about? He had been like another person sitting there, practically making fun of her along with that woman. It still made her furious every time she thought about it.
Jonathan had e-mailed and texted her a few times since Monday, but she hadn’t answered any of them. None had come today. Maybe he had given up on her or gone back to Boston. That made her feel worse, even though it was what she wanted him to do. It was the only way she could even start to get over him.
Tess had really believed they were growing close by working together. She had felt sure that their relationship had a future. But clearly, he had just been using her because she lived here and helped him find so much material for his work.
Maybe he hadn’t even realized what he was doing. He didn’t seem conniving, but it added up to the same thing. Jonathan obviously didn’t respect her or consider her his intellectual equal. His entire attitude changed when he was in his own circle again. That was how it would be once they both got back to school and their studies. It had just been a little fling for both of them, something to offset the doldrums of winter break.
No matter how many times she considered answering his calls or agreeing to talk things out, she knew it was better to end it here. It would only hurt worse later.
Tess walked down the long, dim hallway and glanced in the reading room. Dan Forbes sat at the same table Jonathan liked and with his head bent over his laptop. The sight made her blink. It could have been Jonathan sitting there. She drew in a quick breath, feeling a pang in her heart.
It was going to take a long time to forget Jonathan Butler.
Like it
or not, she had to.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Molly woke up Sunday morning it was still dark outside. She had left her cell phone next to her bed and set the little alarm, so that Matt would not be disturbed. She had come in around two in the morning, after catering a late party. Matt had been asleep then, and now she crept out of bed without even speaking to him.
She wished she could have just rolled over and pulled the covers over her head. She didn’t know how she had any energy left, but somehow she stumbled into the shower, pulled on her work clothes, and grabbed a quick cup of coffee from the superfast single-brew gadget in the kitchen.
The roads were empty as she drove into the village. Though she knew there would soon be traffic everywhere. It was the last day of shopping. That night was Christmas Eve, when only loonies and workaholics—like her—went out to grab a few more gifts.
She wasn’t even sure if she would be able to sneak that mall crawl in tonight or tomorrow. There were still more parties to manage on her list and she was still on her own. Despite Betty’s high hopes, she had only lasted a few days at work before her back gave out again. Poor Betty, Molly felt so bad for her friend. But she felt even worse for herself, left to manage the glut of party jobs as the countdown to Christmas Day neared its end. When pressure like this hit, Molly would always call her dad. No matter how hard his schedule was, he always found an hour or two to run to her rescue.
But not this time. Joe was still incommunicado. The best she and Sam could do was get her mother on the phone. Marie would report the same thing over and again, “Your father doesn’t want to talk yet. I’m sorry.”
Molly felt sad about that, too. But she pushed herself to keep going. Molly was glad now that Sam and Jessica had stuck to their plan and were still having their Christmas Eve party. She was glad Grandma Addie would be there, too. She’d had some mixed feelings about another family event after last Saturday’s fiasco. But now she could see that there had been some pluses, along with the minuses, and family was important on Christmas. That’s what the holidays were all about. Last but hardly least, she was glad to attend one party that she hadn’t had to put together herself.