Authors: Gloria Repp
She put the hats away and closed the armoire. “I’ve got to make this old house pay for itself, somehow. I wonder if I should sell it.”
That afternoon, Remi and Jude worked at prying off the fireplace shelves, and Madeleine decided to take another look for her paperweight.
She vacuumed every inch of her room and shook out the sheets and blankets on her bed. Nothing.
It wouldn’t be in a drawer, would it? She did a quick check, and the pendant gleamed at her from among her socks. A lovely thing, in spite of the cord. How had it ended up at Tara’s house? And where had Jude’s father gone, that he would leave it behind?
She went back to the Blue Room and picked up her notebook. She hadn’t heard from Nathan all day. Because of last night?
She would see him tomorrow for the concert. She didn’t want to wait until then, but maybe she’d have to. One thing for sure, she wasn’t going to phone him.
The next morning she was working in the Blue Room, still making lists, when her aunt came to say goodbye.
“Have a good time,” Madeleine said.
Her aunt’s face grew animated. “Our new marketing guy, Vance. He asked me out for lunch. I should be back by Wednesday—I’ll phone.”
She stopped halfway out the door. “Ask yourself what we could do with this dear old white elephant. What about a museum? You and I could spend our declining years dusting the artifacts.”
After she left, Madeleine picked up a blue china shepherdess, stared at it, and put it back down. This dear old white elephant seemed stuffy today. She’d work until noon and then take time off for good behavior.
She had eaten lunch and was starting to revise a cookie recipe when the phone rang. Tara’s voice sounded higher than usual, raised against a din of voices. “Mollie! Hey, I wanted to tell you, my aunt goes shopping on Saturday mornings. Can you come see me tomorrow? We could have elevenses.”
What about the hike with Nathan?
“I’ll have to—”
“—Great!” Tara said quickly. “I’m calling from school. Gotta run. See ya.”
Nathan might not mind if they started their hike later. If they hiked at all. Why hadn’t he phoned?
If she did some grocery shopping—really, she needed to—she could stop by and see Timothy. She could tell him about visiting Tara. He might want her to make another sign. Nathan might happen to walk in.
Maybe she shouldn’t have said so much, shouldn’t have been so direct, shouldn’t have left. One look at his face, and she’d know.
Timothy was talking to a customer while two others stood by, but Hey-You gave her a welcoming sniff. He followed her as she walked up and down the aisles, studying Timothy’s displays. How about a new sign for the bookshelf? And one for the homemade jams? Something whimsical.
Bria went past, heading for Timothy’s office, and Madeleine followed. Timothy had hired Bria to do his accounts—a smart move, Madeleine thought, as she watched her down behind a new computer.
Jude was washing windows at the far end of the room. He stopped long enough to say, “I asked one of the teachers if she knew my dad and she said they did a special page about him in the yearbook a couple of years ago. She’s going to find me a copy.”
He squirted window cleaner onto a pane and wiped it off. “Mom’s upset—Kent said he’s not going to sell our decoys anymore.”
“Why not?” The guy couldn’t bear to give them a decent cut, could he?
“Said he’s too busy.”
Madeleine dropped into a chair. These two had a right to know the truth. “There’s another side to that story,” she said, and told them about Kent’s scam.
Jude turned to stare, and streams of cleaner ran down the pane. He lifted the bottle of cleaner as if it were a club. “And he already has so much money he can eat at a fancy restaurant whenever he wants.”
“My grandfather’s initials?” Bria looked as if she were frozen in a nightmare. “The same as Mom’s.”
“Doc spoke to him,” Madeleine said, “and he agreed to stop. He even promised to give your mother a better percentage. But apparently he’s changed his mind.”
Jude started again on the window, scrubbing at it in small, jerky circles.
“So he took the easy way out,” Bria said in a tight voice. She bent over the desk. “I’ve got work to do.”
Jude didn’t look around, but the back of his neck was red.
Madeleine said quietly, “I’m going to see Tara tomorrow. Maybe I can find out a few things.”
Jude half-turned. “Ask where she got the pendant.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Tell her it’s important.”
“I will,” Madeleine said, and decided it was time to leave. Another important thing—seeing Nathan—hadn’t happened. She wasn’t going to hang around, waiting.
As she was parking at the Manor, he phoned. “Hello,” he said. “Wanted to . . . had a question. Did you . . . do you still have time to go to that concert tonight?”
“Yes, I do.”
Why wouldn’t she go? Hadn’t she said she would?
“Okay.” He hung up.
Was he still struggling? Angry at what she’d said? Didn’t want to go and hoping she’d cancel first?
She shrugged off more questions and carried the groceries inside.
She had asked Charlotte what one wore to a Pine Barrens concert and had decided on a blue peasant skirt and white blouse. For once, she would put up her hair. Their first real date.
After the night she’d spent praying, surely God would set her free from her fears, at least as far as Nathan was concerned. This could be a happy evening.
He arrived precisely on time. She opened the door, and he gave her an inscrutable glance, saying nothing beyond hello-how-are-you. She replied with words equally mundane, turned, and went to the kitchen for her purse and jacket.
He walked into the kitchen with her and paused beside the table. He was freshly shaved, and he wore dark khakis and the sweater she liked.
He cleared his throat. “It has been dry lately, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, it has.” His face didn’t give her a clue as to what he was thinking. The doctor’s-face.
“I appreciate your taking the time to go with me tonight. I hope it isn’t an inconvenience.”
Why so formal?
“It is not an inconvenience.”
He glanced out the window and back. “Your hairdo is becoming.”
“Thank you. I like your sweater.” It was the steel blue one, and it set off his eyes, which at the moment were guarded and cool. Who was he to speak of glaciers?
He glanced at his watch. “We’d better go.”
He helped her on with her jacket, managing to do it at arm’s length without touching her. He opened the car door with his usual courtesy, drove at a moderate speed, and for a stretch of interminable minutes made small talk about the local culture. The many talented artists. The group of businessmen promoting this event. Piney Power.
They were following a broad, slow-moving river that reminded her of the Mullica and their canoe trip. He was a different man tonight.
She checked her cell phone for messages and turned it off.
Was he angry? And if so, why? Asking him would probably make it worse. So much for a pleasant evening of music and maybe a bit of romance.
She rearranged the contents of her purse. Put the lip gloss in the outer pocket. Much more handy. Not that she’d need it tonight.
She resisted the impulse to pat at the pins in her hair.
Enough of this. She was going to ask him. If he was the type of man—like Brenn—who was given to cold, silent angers, she’d better find out now. And she would tell him good-bye.
“Nathan,” she said, “would you please stop this car and say something real? Or else take me home.”
He glanced at her, slowed the car, executed a swift U-turn, and drove back the way they’d come.
Her hands began to shake, but she twisted them together, and they kept still.
This was the end. She was not going to put up with someone who behaved like Brenn. Not in any way. She’d promised herself.
A sand road branched off to the right. He turned down it, and they bumped across its ruts in silence. Minutes later he parked on a bluff overlooking the river. His face was ashen in the twilight, and the scar looked like a scrap of pale ribbon. He stared ahead, his shoulders stern.
“I have to ask you something,” he said.
Every muscle in her body clenched.
“After what happened Wednesday night, are you angry with me?”
“No.” The word rode on a cresting wave of relief,
He looked out the side window. “You said some things that are true. Used to be true. You asked some hard questions. I wouldn’t blame you if you . . . do you despise me?”
“Not for a minute, Nathan.” That was it. He was ashamed.
The color returned to his face. “Sometimes,” he said in a low voice, “
no
is better than
yes
.”
He came around to open her door, waited while she unsnapped her seat belt, and in one swift motion, slipped his arms around her and picked her up.
“Nathan!”
He paused, smiling. “Kind of nice, having you this close. I don’t want you to get sand in your good shoes.”
He walked along the river bank, carrying her as easily as he did his medical bag, set her down on a log, and sat beside her. He put an arm around her waist and took her hand. “What did you want to talk about?”
Discard prepared speech. Laugh? Cry? At least try to sound rational.
“I missed you, these two days.”
“You left, and I thought you had given up on me. With good cause.”
“I went home to pray.”
“It was an incredible night. God has been so patient with me, so loving. He’s changing me so I can let go of that.”
Thank you, Lord.
She looked up at him. “I was afraid I’d gone too far, that you were angry.”
“I wasn’t angry.”
Might as well ask him about that now. “What are you like when you’re angry?”
He dropped her hand, leaned forward to pick up a twig, and threw it into the river. “You’ve seen me broken, Mollie. Now you want me to admit that I get angry?”
“Everyone does, sometime.”
“Okay.” He threw in another twig. “I tend to flare up, say things I shouldn’t, slam doors. What about you?”
“Much the same, only I talk more. As you’ve already seen, to my regret.”
“That’s better than the silent treatment. Are we still taking our hike tomorrow?”
“Tara phoned.” Would he understand that this was another chance to reach out to the girl?
He smiled. “She wants to come too?”
“Sorry. She invited me—begged me—to come to a tea party tomorrow morning. Would you mind if we did a half-day hike?”
“That’s fine. She needs to spend time with you. Of course, I do too, but I’ve got plans.”
He leaned closer, and a mosquito hummed between them. She waved it off. “They always come after me. Do you think the concert is over?”
“Only partway. Want to try it?”
He picked her up again, and she laughed this time as he carried her across the sand and put her into the Jeep.
The concert hall, she decided, must also serve as a packing house, considering the fields of bushes that surrounded it and the stacks of boxes inside. The audience talked quietly among themselves, facing a portable stage built of dark timbers.
“Intermission,” Nathan whispered as they sat on folding metal chairs. “We got here just in time.”
The crowd began to clap and cheer, and the musician walked up onto the stage.
He wore stiff new jeans and a plaid shirt, he held a baby in his arms, and his black eyes were sparkling.
Logan? What was he doing here?
He acknowledged the applause by lifting the baby over his head. “I would like to introduce my son, Jared.”
Nathan smiled at her. He’d known.
“This next song, ‘Cedar Streams,’ is dedicated to my son.”
Thunderous applause.
Logan handed the baby down to Greta and picked up a lute.
The melody flowed past, cool as the Mullica. It rippled into pools, leaped into arpeggios, and turned back upon itself, braiding in another tune, again, and once again, finally ending with a flourish of riffles.
Another song sprang to life in a stately tune that glided through a rich progression of chords and counterpoint.
Nathan squeezed her hand. He’d recognized it too—Bach’s “E minor Suite for Lute.” So Logan played classical as well?