A New Leaf

by Thomas Kinkade

  “See you, Charlie,” Tucker called after him.

  Charlie raised one hand, his back now turned. “Sure, see you around, Tucker.”

  Tucker continued walking toward the station house. He guessed that now that Carl was out of the picture, Charlie had decided they should forget their argument and be friends again. It was the same way at the station house. Even Chief Sanborn was now acting as if he had never doubted Tucker’s judgment, never pressured him about Carl. It was as if the whole thing had never happened, which made Tucker feel odd and unsettled.

  Maybe everyone else could forget that Carl existed now that he had left town, but Tucker couldn’t. He refused to. Even if he never saw Carl again, he wasn’t going to deny his brother just to keep things smooth and easy. For so many years he had pushed Carl to the back of his mind, almost pretending he didn’t exist. He had been embarrassed to admit that he was related to someone like Carl, a convict who had served time in jail. But he couldn’t do that anymore. Carl was part of him, part of his family, his history. He could see now that denying Carl was like denying part of himself.

  Carl had shown real character in the way he’d pulled himself together, Tucker thought, the way he’d made a new life for himself up in Maine even after being treated so badly down here. Tucker admired that, though he was sure people like Charlie Bates and Chief Sanborn would never understand.

  He wasn’t sure yet what he would decide about staying on the police force. But he knew his lifelong friendship with Charlie Bates would never be the same. How could it be? Tucker wondered. It would deny Carl and deny so much of me.

  THE PHONE RANG EARLY SUNDAY MORNING. TUCKER HAD JUST COME IN from walking the dog and no one else in the family was up yet. He answered it and heard Reverend Ben on the line.

  “Sorry to bother you, Tucker. But I see it’s your turn on the fix-it list. Could you come over to the church a little earlier this morning? There’s a problem with the side door. It seems to be jammed. It happens sometimes in the warm weather. I’m not sure what to do about it.”

  “That’s all right, Reverend. I know what to do. I’ll bring the WD-40 and some silicone spray.”

  The reverend didn’t answer right away. “Sounds good to me, Tucker. Whatever you said.”

  Tucker laughed in reply. He showered and dressed quickly, then arranged for Fran to come to the service with the children later in her car.

  The village green was nearly empty at such an early hour, with only a few joggers loping along the harbor. Tucker parked on the far side of the green and walked toward the church. The tall oak trees were covered with early green leaves, the shade was cool, and the air smelled of damp earth and freshly mown grass.

  He found the side door of the church open, but a ladder stood blocking the entryway. Maybe the reverend called another deacon who got here before me, Tucker thought with surprise. He stepped up to the doorway and looked around.

  “You looking for somebody?”

  Tucker turned at the sound of Carl’s voice right behind him. Carl was dressed in his work overalls, carrying a screwdriver and a tiny oil can.

  “Carl . . . you came back. Why didn’t you let me know?”

  Carl shrugged. “I figured you’d find out soon enough. It’s a small town. News travels fast, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Carl walked past Tucker and climbed up the ladder.

  Tucker took a few steps back and watched him work. “How long have you been here?”

  Carl shrugged. “Day before yesterday. I got a room in that same place where I was living before, and I got my job back here, too. I’ve been settling in.”

  “Sure, I understand.” Tucker paused. He wasn’t surprised that Carl had not called him straight off, all things considered. But he was still surprised that he’d come back to the village.

  “Why did you come back? I thought you said you never would.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Carl shrugged. “I thought some about what you said. I wasn’t guilty of nothing. I should have stuck it out here instead of running. The reverend said the same thing to me. He wrote me a letter a day or two after you left. I would have liked to have seen those cops’ faces when those kids were picked up in Hamilton. I missed out on that.”

  “Yeah, you did,” Tucker agreed, thinking there would be no lack of surprised looks once people saw Carl around again.

  Carl put down the screwdriver. “And I guess it meant something to me, the way you came to find me, to tell me what went on down here. You went the distance for me, Tucker. I don’t think anyone’s ever done that before.”

  Tucker didn’t know what to say. He looked away from the ladder, relieved that Carl couldn’t see how his words had affected him.

  “You were right, too. I have a good job here, better than up in Portland. And I got ties, family ties. For better or worse, as they say. So . . . here I am.”

  Tucker watched him climb down the ladder. Carl kicked the doorstop away and tested the hinges. The door opened and closed smoothly without sticking.

  “You fixed that pretty good. Better than I would have.”

  “It needs to be planed a little on the bottom. I’ll get to that tomorrow. I didn’t want to take it down today with the service and all. The reverend likes the church to look nice on Sundays.”

  Tucker met his brother’s dark eyes. “I’m glad you came back, Carl. I’m happy to see you.”

  “Likewise, I guess.” Carl’s voice was gruff. He coughed into his hand.

  Tucker suddenly leaned over and patted Carl’s shoulder. It was not quite a hug but certainly more than a handshake. He pulled away and faced him again with a small smile. “Why don’t you come by for dinner this afternoon? I think we’re having baked ham.”

  Tucker knew how much his brother liked ham. He doubted Carl had eaten a decent meal since he’d left town.

  Carl laughed. “Maybe you should clear it with Fran first. She’s probably still counting the silverware from the last time you invited me.”

  “Don’t worry about Fran. She’s all right. I think she’ll be happy to see you.”

  Carl squinted at him with utter disbelief. “Sure, when pigs can fly she’ll be.”

  “No, I’m not kidding. People can change, you know.”

  Carl stared at him a moment, then nodded. “If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  Tucker knew he would never doubt that again.

  SOPHIE WASN’T SURE SHE COULD DO IT AT FIRST. BUT SOMETHING INSIDE had pushed her beyond her sadness and regrets, beyond her mourning of Gus’s death. Maybe it was Gus’s spirit, willing her to carry on without him. He would have wanted her to have the Memorial Day picnic at the orchard, just as they did every year for so long now that she couldn’t even remember when the tradition had started.

  Sophie sat at her dressing table, working on her hair. Through the bedroom windows she had a bird’s-eye view of the setup for the party, the long cloth canopies, the tables already laden with food. A number of guests had already arrived and were helping with the last of the preparations.

  It was going to be a big crowd this year, maybe the biggest ever. That would be hard to gauge, though, since they never kept records of these things, only photographs. Maybe next winter when the cold set in again, she and Miranda could dig out the old albums and check. But they were far too busy now. Too much work filled every hour of every day to wonder and worry about the past.

  Miranda had lit up when Sophie said that the picnic tradition would continue. Sophie knew Miranda would not have argued if the decision had been otherwise, but she could see how Miranda had put her heart into the preparations this week. She found special paper garlands and lanterns to hang from the trees. She gathered pitchers and vases and filled them with flowers. She found a crew of helpers to set up the tables and made phone calls for hours, figuring out the menu and the shifts on the barbeque.

  “We’ll hold it in honor of Granddad,” she had suggested, and Sophie had liked that idea.


  Sophie had baked and cooked all of her specialities, her apple pies, Poppy Seed Cole Slaw, Johnny Cake, and Twice-Baked Beans with Seven Secret Spices.

  She stuck one last pin in her upswept hair, smoothing back wisps of faded strawberry blond and gray. She took a necklace from the jewelry tray, a gold heart locket with Gus’s photo inside, a picture taken on their honeymoon. She always wore it close to her heart now.

  Sophie knew she shouldn’t dawdle, fussing over her appearance so. She ought to be downstairs with the guests by now. Still, she felt no hurry. It felt as if Miranda were the real hostess this year, even taking precedence over her aunts Evelyn and Una. That was as it should be, Sophie realized. Miranda had earned that right, the way she fought to save the orchard. Sophie was happy to step back and watch her granddaughter shine today.

  Day by day, Miranda was becoming more a part of this place and the orchard, more a part of her. Sophie had not expected their plan to work out nearly so well. But Miranda had been right. She really did belong here.

  Sophie rose from her dressing table and gave her reflection a once over. “You’ll do,” she heard Gus whisper in her ear. “You’ll do just fine for me, dear.”

  She nodded and said a small silent thank you. It was time to go down and join the party.

  REVEREND BEN FOUND HE HAD TO PARK SOME DISTANCE DOWN THE road from the orchard. It was always this way when you were a latecomer. He had dropped Carolyn off at the house and now walked alone toward the party. He could already hear the music drifting over the trees and smell the appetizing barbeque. The big yellow house came into view, a grand old Queen Anne, its wraparound porches filled with lounging guests. A few called out greetings, and he waved back. He was not surprised to see Jessica and Sam Morgan here or to see Sam’s sister Molly. But he did take notice of Molly walking hand-in-hand with Matt Harding, his daughter Amanda and the two Willoughby girls trailing behind. They both looked happy, Ben thought, happy and totally at ease with one another. It appeared that Matt Harding had found a way to forgive himself and move on. Ben felt truly pleased for him and for Molly, too, who had certainly weathered her share of difficulties.

  Ben walked on, noticing Tucker and Carl Tulley standing together in the shade of a large oak talking to Digger Hegmen. Carl looked fascinated as the old seaman spun one of his many yarns. Ben was glad to see that Carl had come, marveling that Tucker had been able to persuade him.

  Strange things had happened around here lately, he realized. Strange and even miraculous. The silent answers to so many prayers.

  He walked through Sophie’s garden at the back of the house, heading toward the tables and canopies. He glanced across the rows of blooming flowers. Emily Warwick and Dan Forbes sat together on a stone bench. Dan had his arm around her, and they looked as if they were off in a world of their own, more like two teenagers than people in their forties. Ben felt cheered to see Emily so radiantly happy. Only a year ago her life had been so different. She had had no one in her life, just strained relationships with both her mother and Jessica. She hadn’t been reunited with her birth daughter, Sara, and had never imagined such a relationship with Dan.

  He thought of his own life, how much had happened in such a short time. Carolyn’s illness and accident, the birth of their first grandchild, his own crisis of faith, and the return of his son, Mark. He had married Jessica Warwick and Sam Morgan and eulogized Gus Potter. It seemed inconceivable that so much had happened in such a short time, and yet it was all just part of the steady, unexceptional stream of life.

  The distant view of the village below captured his attention. Ben stopped and stared out at the town and harbor. It looked like a miniature village from this distance, a Christmas decoration in a shop window. Sometimes it seemed as if nothing ever changed here, and yet the village was really more like the sea, with so much churning under the surface.

  What would the coming year hold for him and everyone here, he wondered. Only God in his heaven knew the answer to that. Ben only knew that acceptance was the key—acceptance, faith, and compassion. To live without fear and to trust in God’s love and in his promise to take care of us.

  Today was a time for celebration, a well-deserved rest from the daily routine. There would be music and dancing, eating and laughter. When darkness dropped like a heavy curtain over the horizon, a hush would fall over the crowd as everyone settled back to watch the fireworks light up the sky over the harbor.

  Ben knew he, too, would watch and marvel at the sight, knowing all the while that mere fireworks could never match the majesty of the natural world, the miracles God sent us everyday in a grain of sand, a clap of thunder, or the petals of a flower.

  Still he would end the day content and smiling, like all the rest, thankful for the simple pleasures of this life and the endless blessings of this single day.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s Imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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