by Terri DuLong
I let out a deep breath and smiled up at Saxton. “Well, here we are.”
Once the seat belt sign was off, I gathered up my knitting and the one small carry-on in the overhead, and Saxton and I made our way into the terminal and downstairs to the rental cars.
The check-in process went smoothly, and before I knew it we were leaving the airport and heading for I-95 north. My excitement was building at the thought of seeing Jill and my beloved alpacas, Bosco and Belle. It had been exactly one year since I’d seen them.
A little over two hours later I spotted Rumination Farm farther up on the right.
“There it is,” I said, pointing a finger, and heard the excitement in my voice.
The large white farmhouse was situated quite a distance back from the road with a long gravel driveway leading to the front door. A two-story clapboard with a sprawling porch, the house with its surrounding eleven acres looked like the quintessential New England postcard.
Before Saxton even had a chance to shut off the ignition I saw Jill come bounding out of the house and down the stairs.
I ran to greet her, and we threw our arms around each other. I’m sure anybody watching would have thought we were two teenage girls giddy with excitement.
“I’m so happy you’re finally here. Hell, it’s only taken a year to get you back,” Jill said, giving me another hug.
She ran over to Saxton, gave him a bear hug, and said, “Okay, let’s get your luggage inside. I’m so glad you agreed to stay here for your first night.”
Saxton and I had decided to stay with Jill to allow us more time to visit and then drive the short way to Brunswick the following day.
We each grabbed a piece of luggage and headed for the front door.
“Nice place,” Saxton said, looking around the foyer with the hardwood floors, braided rug, and antique tables.
“I know,” I told him. “I just love this house. It belonged to Jill’s grandparents, and when they died she inherited it and turned it into the alpaca farm.”
“Why don’t you show Saxton around while I put the finishing touches on lunch. Then we’ll go out so you can see Bosco and Belle.”
“Living room’s in there,” I said, pointing to the large room on my left.
He peeked in the doorway to see the fieldstone fireplace dominating one entire wall, cushy chocolate brown leather furniture, and antique lamps and tables.
“Dining room over there,” I told him, nodding to the right. “Kitchen is behind the dining room, and Jill’s bedroom suite is in back of the living room. Guest rooms upstairs,” I said, reaching for a piece of luggage and climbing the gorgeous staircase in front of us.
“I gave you guys the guest room on the right,” Jill hollered from the kitchen. “Nice and private in case you get frisky.”
“Very funny,” I hollered back with a laugh.
Saxton followed me down the hall to the large bedroom. It was just as I had remembered it. I had been allowed to come here a couple of times to spend the night with Jill when my mother and I still lived in Topsham. And I recalled my yearly visits as an adult visiting from Salem.
A huge mahogany four-poster with a beautiful white lace duvet and handmade quilt folded at the bottom of the bed took up one wall. An oak rolltop desk sat in front of the double windows, and a small sitting area with two cushy chairs and a mahogany table between them was situated next to the bathroom suite.
“Beautiful room,” Saxton said, looking around.
“It is. I’m so glad Jill decided to keep the house and live here herself.”
Saxton pulled me into an embrace. “There’s a lot to be said for these older houses. Maybe it’s because I’m from England, but I’ve always been partial to them.”
I kissed his cheek. “Me too, and I always thought it was because I’m from New England, but I find them much more appealing than the modern houses. Okay, all set? Let’s go down for lunch and then we’ll show you around the property outside.”
40
“Oh, Jill,” I said, blotting my lips with a napkin. “You outdid yourself on that clam chowder. I don’t know, but I think you could give Tony’s Restaurant a run for his money in the chowder competition.”
Jill laughed, then took the last sip of her wine. “No, thanks. I only make it for myself and those I love. But I am a bit prejudiced toward clams right out of the Atlantic. Gabe brought these to me last night so I could get the chowder going.”
Gabe? This was the first time I’d heard her mention this name.
“Who’s Gabe?” I asked with interest.
“Oh . . . well . . . I was kinda waiting till you got here to tell you. I’ve started seeing somebody. A really nice fellow. Nothing serious . . . but . . . I like him.”
She reminded me of a flustered teenager, and I chuckled. “Okay. Time for details.”
“Well, we met right after I got back from Thanksgiving in Florida and . . .”
I cut her off. “What? Four months ago and you’re just getting around to telling me now?”
“Technically, three months ago. In December. He owns a seafood restaurant a few miles up the coast and I just happened to stop in there for lunch one day. He’s also the chef and came over to the table to see if my scallops were okay. So we started chatting and well . . . next thing I know, he’s asking me out. I figured what the heck. We had a really nice time and, um . . . well . . . the rest is history.”
“You’ve been holding out on me, Jill. Shame on you,” I said, laughing. “But I’m really happy for you. Do I get to meet this beau while I’m here?”
“Actually, I did invite him for dinner this evening. So, yes, you’ll be able to give your approval.”
“Great. Okay, let me help you clean up. I’m dying to show Saxton around.”
“No, no. I can handle it. Go show him around and I’ll join you out there shortly.”
I took Saxton’s hand and led him out the back door. I took a deep breath of the brisk March air and pointed across the field.
“That old barn is what Jill converted to her yarn shop. She does all the spinning and dyeing of the yarn in there. And there’s the alpacas,” I said, nodding toward two pens enclosed with fence across from the barn. “Let’s go find Bosco and Belle.”
As we got closer, I spied them immediately. One tan and one beige. Alpacas can be skittish, and I knew it had been a year since I had seen them, so I approached the fence cautiously.
“Hey, babies,” I said softly, holding out my hand. It took a bit of coaxing, but after a few minutes Bosco came closer, followed by Belle.
“They’re really gorgeous,” Saxton said, following my lead and speaking softly. “What a beautiful coat they have.”
I nodded. “Yeah, nice and wooly, and it makes perfect yarn. Jill will shear them in the spring. Come on, sweetie, come closer.”
After a few more minutes Bosco was at the fence, Belle at his side, and I was able to pat them and nuzzle the top of their fuzzy heads. Alpacas weren’t like dogs, but I had no doubt that they remembered me. We spent some time giving them attention and then I said, “Come on. I’ll show you the yarn shop.”
We walked across the path to the restored barn, and I opened the door on the huge room. One side was set up as a working area with spinning wheels, bundles of fleece, and roving. The other side was the shop where the yarn and accessories were sold. Large enamel tubs held skeins of various colors and fibers. Baskets were overflowing with alpaca and cotton. Racks displayed finished sweaters, scarves, blankets, and afghans. Up three steps from the main room was an area that held a long granite table with wooden chairs.
“That’s where Jill holds all of her knitting classes and gatherings,” I said.
Saxton shook his head. “I’m impressed. She has quite a business here. And she runs it all herself?”
“She takes care of the alpacas herself, but she just recently hired an assistant a few days a week to help out in the shop and with some classes. This has always been Jill’s dream, ever sinc
e I can remember.”
“There’s a lot to be said for making dreams come true.”
“You think? Some days I’m not so sure about that.”
I turned around to see Jill had joined us, and laughed. “Oh, come on. You know you love it.”
She nodded. “I do, but I’m really glad I’ve now hired Becky. It gives me a few free hours now and then. Did you see Bosco and Belle?”
“Yeah, they look great, and I do think they remembered me.”
“Of course they do. Alpacas are smarter than people think. I just put a pot of coffee on. Thought we could have some with the cranberry bread I made this morning.”
“Sounds great,” I said as we followed her back to the house.
We spent a relaxing afternoon chatting and catching up on news. The aroma of a New England boiled dinner began to fill the house.
“Let me just go check how dinner’s coming,” Jill said. “More coffee?”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to go back outside and see those alpacas again. They’re fascinating animals.” Saxton stood up and followed us to the kitchen.
“They are,” I said. “Go ahead and I’ll join Jill for another cup of coffee.”
I settled myself at the counter while she lifted the lid on the huge pot holding the smoked shoulder, potatoes, carrots, turnip, and cabbage, creating an even stronger aroma.
“God, that smells good,” I told her. “I can’t remember the last time I made that.”
“I know. It’s pretty simple to put together and it’s always good. If you don’t mind, I’m just going to roll out the dough for the biscuits. Gabe said he’ll be here about five, so I planned dinner for five-thirty.”
“Sounds great,” I said, as I watched her flour a wooden board and begin rolling out dough.
“You seem happy, Berkley.”
Her statement took me by surprise. I refilled my coffee mug and looked at her.
“I am happy.”
“What I mean is, I think Saxton has a lot to do with your happiness. You seem . . . well . . . changed since you’ve met him.”
“Really? In which way?”
She hesitated for a moment. “More relaxed. Less stressed. Not as . . . obsessive.”
I noticed she didn’t look at me when she said this but continued to concentrate on cutting out circles of dough for the biscuits.
I let out a deep sigh. “Well, despite what you’ve always said, I’ve never considered myself obsessive. Or compulsive. But yeah, you could be right. Saxton makes me feel different.”
“More secure?”
“Oh, now I’m also insecure?”
Her head shot up. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way, Berkley. Honest. It’s just that since we were kids, you’ve always tried so hard to be independent. To the point where once we got older, I used to wonder if it was a mask. A cover-up for how you really felt.”
I hadn’t ever given this much thought, but Jill could be right.
“I suppose so,” I mumbled, as I realized that since meeting Saxton I had let go of a lot of my quirky behavior. I no longer needed the light on at night when I slept—even if Saxton wasn’t spending the night at my place. I had been able to let go of having everything placed precisely where I’d put it. My list and notes—I’d probably always be a list maker, but I had made changes in many ways.
“I just want you to know,” Jill said, wiping her hands on a towel, “no matter what you find out in Brunswick—it won’t define who you really are. Whatever it was, it was your mother’s life. Not yours. You had nothing to do with anything that happened. I mean, I think it’s pretty obvious that whatever you’re going to find out—it won’t be good news. Otherwise, your mother and grandmother wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to keep it away from you. But, Berkley, just keep it in perspective.”
“I will,” I said, and hoped that I was right.
“That was really delicious, Jill,” Saxton said. “There’s nothing like true home cooking.”
“I agree,” Gabe told her as he reached over to pat her hand.
“Thank you so much for making this.” I shot her a smile both for the dinner and for my approval of Gabe.
I liked him a lot from the moment he entered Jill’s kitchen, a bottle of wine in one hand and a bouquet of spring flowers in the other. Tall, average looking, and very personable. He had one of those personalities people were naturally drawn to. Genuine and sincere, much like Saxton, and I thought he was the perfect match for my best friend.
“Thank you. All accolades gladly accepted. And now . . . How about a piece of homemade apple pie to finish it off? I have coffee to go with it.”
“Great, I’ll help you,” I said, leaving the dining room to follow her into the kitchen.
“I like him, Jill. Gabe seems like a really nice guy, and I think you two are well suited.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing. You know, it’s really strange. When you least expect it, when you’re truly not searching for anybody in your life . . . boom . . . it just happens. In walks Mr. Right.”
I laughed. “I know the feeling exactly,” I said, thinking back to the day I found Saxton sitting on the pavement in front of my chocolate shop waiting for me to open.
Following dessert and coffee, we went into the living room, where a huge fire was blazing in the fireplace. I curled up next to Saxton on one sofa, and Gabe and Jill took the other one. We passed a pleasant few hours conversing, and then Gabe said he needed to get going.
“I have a big day at the restaurant tomorrow. Lots of bookings, so I’ll need to get an early start. If you get a chance, before you head back to Florida, come by for dinner. On the house.”
We assured him we’d try to make it one evening before leaving.
By ten o’clock Saxton and I were ready to call it a night.
“Sleep as late as you want,” Jill told us before heading to her room downstairs. “I don’t have any classes or anything tomorrow, but I’m usually up pretty early to tend to the alpacas.”
I joined Saxton in the comfy bed and curled up in his arms. Snuggled beside him, with the duvet and fluffy pillows, I felt like I was in a cocoon. A protective cocoon. And I wondered what tomorrow would bring. What would I find in those newspapers at the Brunswick library? Now that I was hours away from the information that I had craved for forty years, I could only hope that Jill had been right—that I’d be able to accept whatever it was I was about to find out.
41
I awoke to find Saxton staring at me, a smile on his face. “Good morning, beautiful. Sleep well?”
I returned his smile and touched his cheek. “I don’t think I woke once. How about you?”
“The same. I love you.”
I slid over closer. “I love you too. Be right back,” I said, scooting out of bed and heading for the bathroom.
I returned a few minutes later and saw the bedside clock read six thirty-five.
“I bet Jill’s already outside feeding the alpacas,” I said, snuggling back in next to him. “How long have you been awake?”
“Since about six.”
“You’ve been staring at me for a half hour?”
“I love staring at you,” he said in a husky voice as I felt his hand slide down my body.
Following a delicious breakfast of pancakes, Vermont maple syrup, and rich, dark coffee, we said our good-byes to Jill and headed to Topsham, where Saxton had rented a cute little cottage for our three-night stay.
After we got settled in he said, “How about we find a place for lunch and then hit the library?”
Spring can be a bit slow arriving in New England, but we had a sunny day with temps in the midsixties, and everywhere I looked I saw crocuses and other flowers peeping out of the ground. Leaves were beginning to fill all the trees in Topsham, bringing back a multitude of memories from my early childhood there.
“After lunch I’d love to drive past the house where I lived with my mother and grandmother.”
Saxton locked t
he door and we headed to the car.
He gave my hand a squeeze. “This is your trip, Berkley. Just tell me where you’d like to go.”
After we finished a delicious bowl of fish chowder we headed toward Elm Street, a short distance from our cottage on Main.
Saxton drove slowly, waiting for my instructions.
“A little farther up on the left,” I said.
I saw the yellow clapboard one-story house and pointed. “There,” I told him.
He pulled into a spot across the street as I leaned over and stared at my childhood home. Forty years had passed since I’d seen it, but except for the exterior color little else had changed. A nondescript two-bedroom, one-bath house. A house I’d been whisked away from at age five to begin a new life in Salem, Massachusetts.
I let out a deep breath. “It was white when we owned it, but . . . it doesn’t look any different.” I noticed the bushes along the walkway that had seemed so small when I lived there had now grown about waist high. Two Adirondack chairs were positioned on the small porch, and the front door had been painted a lemony shade of yellow. I also expected to see my grandmother opening the door in welcome.
When I remained silent, Saxton reached for my hand. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah, it just seems so odd seeing the house again.” I felt moisture stinging my eyes as memories overwhelmed me. I cleared my throat. “Okay. On to Pleasant Street and the library.”
We easily found a parking spot and walked the short distance to the brick structure built in 1904. Climbing the stairs to the original wooden door with glass panes, I had a flashback of coming here with my mother to borrow books from the children’s section.
