Beach Girls Page 32
Nell giggled.
“What's so funny, young lady?” he asked.
“Just that you look a certain way in your white uniform, and it seems funny to think of you blubbering.”
“You do make a really dashing bridegroom, Commander,” Stevie said. She felt incredibly light and happy—standing with Nell, knowing Jack was down at the inn talking to Madeleine, ready to come meet her. They had stayed together almost all the night before, till the sun had started coming up. They'd made love again, and then Stevie had sneaked into her room, to pretend to fall asleep on the sofa.
“What are all those ribbons on your chest?” Nell asked.
“Oh, just a few mementos of life in the Navy,” he said.
“He's a highly decorated naval officer,” Stevie said, putting her arm around Nell. “He's sailed all around the world, fighting battles.”
“That's an ironic way to put it,” Henry grumbled, raising one eyebrow at Stevie. “You should talk.”
“What's that one?” Nell asked, standing on her tiptoes to point.
Stevie didn't know, so she waited for Henry to say. He seemed to blush—something she was not accustomed to seeing him do. After a few seconds, he said, “It's the Purple Heart,” he said.
“What's it for?” Nell asked.
“It's for people wounded in combat,” he said.
Stevie stared at him with shock. She had been feeling so ebullient, excited about the wedding, that the words hit her hard.
“What do you mean?” Stevie asked.
“It was off Bahrain, in the last war. I got hit with shrapnel.”
“You got shot?” Stevie asked. “Why didn't I know?”
“I didn't tell Aida, because I didn't want to upset her. It was hard enough for her, knowing I was over there. Besides, it wasn't that serious.”
“Since when is getting hit with shrapnel not serious?”
“When buddies of mine got killed at the same time.”
Stevie was quiet, thinking. She glanced down at Nell, not wanting her to be upset by the conversation. But to her surprise, Nell's gaze was riveted on Henry's face. She stepped forward, getting very close to him.
“Your friends died?”
“They did,” he said.
“And you just got hurt, so you thought it didn't really matter?” she asked.
He nodded.
“That's like my mother and my aunt,” Nell said. “My aunt just didn't know how to be . . . after my mother died. And we didn't know how to be, either—my father and I. Everyone hurt, but we didn't think we should complain about it . . . or even say anything. Because my mother . . .”
“Because compared to your mother dying, it didn't feel like very much,” Henry said.
Nell nodded. Stevie watched them, two of the people she loved most in the world—the seasoned naval officer and the nine-year-old girl, standing on the church steps.
“But it is,” Stevie said. “Missing people we love is as bad as it gets.”
Just then, Stevie saw Henry undoing a pin on the front of his uniform; she realized that he was unfastening the small bar representing the Purple Heart. Bending down, he pinned it on Nell's dress.
“You're giving it to me? Why?” Nell asked.
“Because you earned it. You're a brave sailor, Nell Kilvert.”
“Thank you,” she said, touching the bar.
“I wish I had another one to give you,” Henry said, raising one eyebrow at Stevie.
“Me?” she asked.
He nodded. “All those shipwrecks over the years, Luocious. You deserve a Purple Heart for surviving them all.”
She laughed and blinked away sudden tears, looking up at the church steeple. He was right, in so many ways. Her heart had hurt so badly, she had closed herself off from the world. She had barricaded herself in her beloved cottage, painting and writing love stories about birds. But then the Kilverts had come along.
“The truth is,” Henry said. “I don't think you need one. Your heart is in fine shape.”
“I know,” she said, standing beside Nell. “I think you're right.”
“One thing: watch carefully today. I know you've had a few walks down the aisle, but today Doreen and I are going to show you how it's done right. Good things come to those who wait.”
“Are you talking about you or me?”
“Both of us, kid,” Henry said. “You've got to admit, we've had one hell of a rocky ride. It's about time we found some calm water in a safe harbor.”
Jack and Madeleine had let everyone else leave the inn in their cars.
The church was just about twenty minutes away, past Bellevue Avenue and down Memorial Boulevard. They set off quickly, not wanting to be late. The day was brilliant, clear and fine. Jack remembered other September days when he'd walked his sister places—to school, to Goodwin Park, to the tennis courts. The memory of all those years got clearer with every step.
“What do you think it means . . .” he began, just as she said, “How did you come to fly here . . .”
They laughed, and then Madeleine said, “You go first.”
“Okay,” Jack said. “What do you think it means, that you were right there, sitting with Stevie, just when Nell and I arrived?”
“I have my theories,” she said. “But tell me what you think.”
He shook his head. “I don't know. I knew I needed to see you both. Henry's wedding was my excuse for flying over now, this weekend—Nell wasn't going to let us not come. We got to the inn, and Aida told us that Stevie was having dinner right on the beach, down below the Cliff Walk. She pointed out the restaurant, and I headed down.”
“And we were right there.”
Jack nodded. “There you both were.”
“When I saw your face, all I could think of was, ‘He hates me—he's going to turn around and leave.'” Her voice broke.
“Oh, I don't hate you, Maddie . . . the opposite . . .”
“It's seemed that way,” she said. “And for so much of the last year, I've hated myself.”
“Why would you feel that way?”
“You're my big brother, Jack. For you to turn against me the way you did, I knew I'd done something terrible. For you not to forgive me means that what happened was unforgivable.”
“Couldn't it mean that I was a fool and made a huge mistake?”
“You're my big brother,” she repeated, the words so simple and innocent that they pierced Jack straight through.
“I kept thinking over and over—I shouldn't have taken Emma on that trip, I shouldn't have told Jack what she said, no one had to know. . . . I wasn't sure whether you'd stopped speaking to me because Emma told me what she did—or because she died.”
“I didn't know myself,” Jack said. The uphill climb got a little steeper. Madeleine seemed winded. She'd always been a tender, emotional girl; her heart was huge. And she'd always adored her big brother. He felt that now, and slowed his pace.
“I only wanted to help,” Madeleine said. “And look what I did—”
“You did help, Maddie,” he said. “You knew Emma was unhappy, and you wanted to be there for her, give her a chance to talk.”
“I took her to the beach,” Madeleine said. “Because that's where she was always happiest. I thought, if we could sit on the sand, go for long swims, walk with our feet in salt water . . . I thought that the sea would wash her pain away, and she could get back to how much she loved you.”
“That should have been my job,” he said.
“You're not excusing her,” Madeleine said.
“I don't know,” Jack said. “It seems like I might be.”
“You can't,” Madeleine said. “Because you're forgetting—Nell.”
As they got close to the hill's crest, traffic flowed by in both directions. A cool breeze swept up from the harbor. The sidewalk was dappled with shadows from graceful trees overhead. Jack glanced over at Maddie, saw that her breath was coming even faster. He felt her love—for him, for Emma, but especially for Nel
l. He wished he could take all that had happened back right now, in this instant.
“I'm not forgetting Nell,” he said.
“Emma was going to leave . . .”
“You know something?” Jack asked. “She wouldn't have.”
Madeleine's eyes widened.
“She might have told you that. She'd gotten swept away with something. But Emma could never have left Nell—not for good. I know that, Maddie. You do, too.”
“I thought you had left me for good,” Maddie said. A stiff, warm breeze was blowing, rustling the leaves overhead. It was still officially summer, but fall was just around the corner. Jack could hardly hear her voice over the traffic and the wind, so he took a step closer to her and clasped her hand.
“I could never have done that,” he said. “You're my sister.”
They walked in silence, over the top of the hill. Jack thought of all the walks they'd taken together. There'd been the time she'd gotten her first “C” on a test at school. And the time she'd tripped on the playground, in front of her whole class. The day she'd lost her kitten. The morning of their mother's funeral, going into the church.
“I'm just so glad you're back,” she said. “However it happened. Was it . . .”
He waited for her to finish the sentence.
“Was it Stevie?” she asked.
“Stevie made it happen faster,” he said. “But it was coming all on its own.”
“Stevie really loves Nell,” Madeleine said. “And I think . . .”
Jack waited, his heart kicking over for some unknown reason. “What?” he asked.
“She loves you, too.”
“That sounds right,” he said. “Considering it's mutual.”
“So what are you doing in Scotland?” she asked.
“Trying to figure out how quickly I can come back.”
“Back?”
He nodded. “I've given my notice at IR. Structural can't rehire me—there's a no-compete clause in the contract I signed. So I'll have some free time, and I thought I'd oversee Aida's castle project.”
“Wow, Jack,” Madeleine said. “Stevie said her aunt is already eternally grateful to you.”
“There's one big problem,” Jack said. “Construction is expensive. Even if I donate my services, she'll still have to figure out a way for the foundation to pay all its bills.”
Madeleine's gaze sparked, and a smile sprang to her face.
“I know a really good fund-raiser,” Jack said. “She's a whiz at development.”
“I'm on hiatus from the university,” she said.
“So, you're available?”
“Depends on who's asking. For my brother, definitely.”
“Then I'm asking.”
“Then, definitely!”
The steeple of St. Mary's came into sight. It was dark and graceful against Newport's blue, blue sky. Jack stared at it pointing up to heaven. He thought of the steeple as an arrow, showing him the way to go. Upward, toward his dreams. He saw it as a message from Emma—telling him that she was looking down over Nell, that she'd be there whenever their daughter needed her. Jack knew it, as clearly as if she'd whispered in his ear.
STANDING ON the sidewalk outside St. Mary's, Stevie and Nell had kept Henry calm. The scent of flowers wafted from the trumpet vine and planters of late-season petunias—aromatherapy for the nervous groom. When the time came, he'd gone inside to stand by the altar and await his bride. Then the cars bearing Doreen, her matron of honor, and her bridesmaid arrived. Aunt Aida pulled up moments later.
The time had come. Organ music, Bach, wafted through the church doors. Where were Jack and Madeleine? Stevie knew that Nell was getting very nervous. She paced the sidewalk, craning her neck in the direction of the inn. Stevie tried to engage her, discussing the story so far of The Day the Sea Turned Black. But Nell couldn't concentrate.
Stevie knew that the child was thinking that perhaps Jack and Maddie had had a fight, or exchanged harsh words, or unleashed all their anger at each other. Nell looked paler by the minute. Her hands clenched and unclenched, and her bottom lip was raw from chewing it.
“Everything's okay, Nell,” Stevie said gently.
“But how do you know?” she asked.
“I just know it is,” Stevie said. “They're ready to do this.”
“But what makes you so sure?” Nell asked with such vehemence that it stopped Stevie short and made her think. She wanted to be very sure before she answered.
Stevie thought about her own life. She had been a hermit, with only Tilly and her work for company. She had poured all her love and passion and delight and adoration of life into the birds she painted, the stories she told. That sign had been by her steps, in her front yard for so long, that vines had entwined around its base. Finches had perched on top. It had been as much a part of her home as her front door, as Tilly's bed, as her easel.
But then one day—seemingly out of the blue—Stevie had been ready to take it down. She couldn't have rushed that action one bit—not by one day, not by one minute.
“Do you know about tulips?” she asked.
“They're pretty flowers,” Nell said.
“Yes, they are. And they grow from bulbs.”
“I know. I helped my mother plant them in our garden.”
“Then you know that you plant them in the fall,” Stevie said. “You dig deep holes in the ground, put the bulbs in, and press dirt down tight. They're down in the earth, dormant through the whole winter. Snow falls, and the ground is frozen, covered with fallen leaves. The migratory birds have all gone south.”
“The hummingbirds . . .”
“The hummingbirds are far away, where it's warm, and the sun is shining. But that garden, where you've planted the bulbs, is ice cold. The sky is gray, and it seems as if the snow, or cold rain, will never stop falling.”
“Winter lasts forever,” Nell whispered.
“But that's where we forget,” Stevie said. “Winter only seems to last forever. Because just when we've forgotten where we've planted the bulbs, one day the first shoots come up. Right through the dirt, that just a few weeks ago might have been frozen solid.”
Nell nodded, listening.
“That's what it's like with your father and aunt,” Stevie said.
But even with Bach getting louder, and Doreen and Aida about to go inside the church, Stevie felt her stomach flip. What if she was wrong? What if Jack's anger had been too deep, or Madeleine's hurt too profound?
And just then, Stevie saw them come around the corner, hurrying down Spring Street. As they reached the foot of the stairs, the bridal party entered the church.
Madeleine kissed Nell's head, threw Stevie a brilliant smile, and put Jack's hand into hers.
“From one beach girl to another—take care of my brother,” she said, running up the steps.
Stevie stood there with Jack. Nell hovered on the step above them, dancing with excitement. Jack stared into Stevie's eyes—she couldn't look away. That's the thing about faith, she thought. It's so hard to have it when the bulbs are in the ground, when a person hasn't yet come around the corner, when a small hand-painted sign is keeping all visitors at bay.
“Come on, we're going to miss the wedding!” Nell said.
“We wouldn't want to do that,” Stevie said.
“Okay, then,” Jack said.
They started up the steps. Stevie felt the breeze at her back, coming off Newport harbor, blowing with it swirls of wind from Hubbard's Point, St. Simons beach, and the Orkney Islands. Everything was connected. She knew Emma was right there with Nell, and always had been. Her heart seized with a promise: I'll take care of them and love them, Emma. . . . The words were clear as the church bells ringing.
And so was Emma's response.
“Look!” Nell gasped.
Right there, at the trumpet vine of beautiful, plentiful red flowers, each a trumpet blasting out its own mysterious song, were a pair of hummingbirds. They darted in and out of the flowers, drinking t
he nectar.
Stevie knew they were just birds—they had always been just birds, in spite of all the human traits she gave them in her books. But what did “just birds” mean, except for the heart to stay together, to fly thousands of miles year after year, to keep coming back, to inspire Stevie to go on? A trumpet vine that had grown up around the base of the stone angel on her mother's grave, attracting hummingbirds to keep her company. Stevie remembered Emma telling her to write about it.
“Thank you,” Stevie whispered.
“Why are you thanking them?” Nell asked.
Stevie glanced up at Jack. He was smiling, as if he already knew.
“I'll tell you after the wedding,” Stevie said.
They took hands—all three of them. Nell was in the middle, gripping as hard as she could, as if she could hold them together for the rest of their lives. Jack gave Stevie a look over the top of Nell's head as he pulled open the heavy door.
And the three of them walked inside.
About the Author
LUANNE RICE is the author of Beach Girls, Dance with Me, The Perfect Summer, The Secret Hour, True Blue, Safe Harbor, Summer Light, Firefly Beach, Dream Country, Follow the Stars Home, a Hallmark Hall of Fame feature, Cloud Nine, Home Fires, Secrets of Paris, Stone Heart, Angels All Over Town, Crazy in Love, which was made into a TNT Network feature movie, and Blue Moon, which was made into a CBS television movie. She lives in New York City and Old Lyme, Connecticut. Visit the author's official website at www.luannerice.com.
Also by Luanne Rice
Dance with Me
The Perfect Summer
The Secret Hour
True Blue
Safe Harbor
Summer Light
Firefly Beach
Dream Country
Follow the Stars Home
Cloud Nine
Home Fires
Blue Moon
Secrets of Paris
Stone Heart
Crazy in Love
Angels All Over Town
“Rice's trademarks are fine writing, a good eye for small detail, and an uncanny way of conveying the mysterious glue that holds families together.” —Kirkus Reviews (starred review)