SEVENTEEN-YEAR-OLD Peter Ahearn sat on the mahogany piano bench and bowed his head over the old upright's keyboard. His smooth, long fingers skimmed across its keys.
Of the ten people in the room that evening, nine sang "Jingle Bells" to Peter's accompaniment. The lone abstainer was Cindy Everhart, Peter's girlfriend of eleven months and three days.
Peter's paternal grandparents sang the loudest. They stood at opposite sides of the piano, waving their punch glasses from side to side like sloshing metronomes.
Peter's four-year-old nephew, Mark Valente, doe-eyed with a mop of dark brown hair, sat beside him on the piano bench. Peter's left arm was woven around Mark's tiny back and under his arm, so that Peter could play bass chords with his left hand while blocking the boy from banging on the piano keys.
Mark's mother, Marybeth Ahearn Valente, carried silverware and napkins to the dining table. As she passed behind Peter and Mark, she bent down, kissed Mark on the cheek, and tousled Peter's long, wavy blond hair.
The oak pedestal dining table was usually round, but that night it was oval because two of its leaves had been added to accommodate grandparents and guests.
Tommy Ahearn sat at the table with Marybeth's husband, Chris Valente, and Cindy. Though Tommy wore civilian clothes, his unfashionably short hair gave away his military status.
The Ahearns' kitchen was enormous for the times. In addition to the oak table and eight matching chairs, there were two sofas, a wing chair, a built-in knotty-pine bookcase, and the late-nineteenth-century upright piano that Katherine had learned to play as a child. All three Ahearn children had taken lessons, but only Peter had practiced diligently and developed a passion for music.
Marybeth finished placing the silverware just as "Jingle Bells" ended.
Grandma said, "Peter, dear, play "Silent Night.""
"No," cried Grandpa, "That's too downbeat. How about "Deck The Halls"?"
"How about neither," Cindy murmured with a roll of her eyes.
Marybeth pretended not to hear.
"Deck the halls with boughs of holly..."
Marybeth looked at Cindy, smiled through gritted teeth, and sat down next to her. "Isn't it exciting that Pete's applied to Berklee Music School? I just know he'll get in."
"I guess," said Cindy.
"Don't you want him to, Cindy? It's not like he'd have to go away, he could just commute to Boston."
"It's not that. It's just stupid. It's not like he's going to come out of a music school and then get some great job, or anything. He'll just end up playing at bars here and maybe in Boston on weekends. In the end he'll be working at the fish processing plant anyway, so why waste the time and money?"
"Oh, but Cindy, he's dreamed about this for so long. And who knows? He might just surprise you and become a big success, or at least have fun trying. He's a really good musician, you know. He can listen to anything and play it by ear. And look how happy he is when he plays music."
"Yeah, maybe he can teach band." Cindy rose from the table, walked the few steps to the sideboard, and refilled her punch glass.
Marybeth slid her chair to the right, sidling up to Tommy, and fumed, "She is such a drag. What does Pete see in her, anyway?"
Tommy looked over at Cindy, made a show of glancing up and down her perfectly proportioned body, and then gave Marybeth a deadpan stare.
"Really?" she said, shaking her head. "Why do I even bother?"
Tommy grinned, put his arm around his sister, and pulled her in close. "Mother hen."
"I'm serious, Tommy. Look at her. She's just going to break his heart one day."
Tommy chuckled, and then stood up and kissed the top of his sister's head. Peter was playing a rock 'n' roll tune. Tommy walked toward their mother, his arms spread wide. "C'mon, Ma, let's show 'em how it's done."
"Tommy, stop," Katherine said. "You know I can't dance to this." When he stood his ground, she smiled. "Well, at least let me take off my apron," she said as she untied it and placed it on the counter.
Tommy swept her into the air and danced around with her in his arms.
Katherine giggled. "Tommy Ahearn, you put me down this instant." Then she called out to her husband. "John, tell your son to put me down."
"Put your mother down, son," John Ahearn said without looking up from his newspaper.
Chapter 17
January 15, 1970
RENIE SAT AT HER DESK in the back of her sixth-grade classroom. She rested her chin on the palm of her hand and stared gloomily through a row of large windows with mustard-colored frames. Snowflakes swirled among the bare trees beyond. The din of twenty-five classmates chattering, giggling, and squabbling was nothing more than white noise to her.
The bell rang and the clamor subsided as Mr. Alvarez smiled and said, "Good morning, class."
"Good morning, Mr. Alvarez," the class replied in unison, and the clamor began to rise again.
"Settle down, settle down. Time to take attendance," the teacher said.
He was darkly handsome, just like Renie's papai. But, unlike Papai, he was tall, and his smooth hands were always clean. He dressed neatly in one of three suits that he rotated charcoal gray today. And he was never drunk or angry.
He had a daughter, Nancy Alvarez. She was in the fourth grade and had beautiful blonde hair. Renie wished that she had blonde hair. And she wished that Papai and Mrs. Alvarez would go away so that Mamãe could marry Mr. Alvarez, and Nancy Alvarez could be her little sister, and Mr. Alvarez could be her papai. That way she could be Renie Alvarez and Mamãe could be Mrs. Alvarez, and they could be smiling and happy like Mr. Alvarez, and Mrs. Alvarez, and Nancy Alvarez always were.
"Renata Raposo," Mr. Alvarez said. She had become lost in daydream while he was doing the roll call.
"Present," she answered.
"Antonio Teixeira."
"Present," the boy said.
"Good, everyone's here today. Pass your homework assignments to the front of the class, and then we can get started."
Mr. Alvarez collected the papers from the front row and placed them on his desk. "Now, we're going to start with a history lesson."
There was a mass shuffle as the children all dug out their history books.
"No, no," Mr. Alvarez said, "you won't find this lesson in your books. This is a special lesson, especially for those of you maybe even most of you who are of Portuguese descent.
"Has anyone heard of a man called Pedro Francisco? You might also know him as Peter Francisco."
Branca Neves's face lit up and she raised her hand high in the air.
§
Branca Neves was Renie's best friend...or the closest thing to a best friend Renie had ever known. They had met on the school bus on the first day of first grade.
Renie had loved kindergarten and was excited to be going back to school. She was wearing a pretty new dress her papai had bought for the occasion. When she sat next to Branca on the bus, she immediately introduced herself. "Hi, I'm Renata Raposo. I live on Rose Hip Point Lane, Hollistown Harbor, Massachusetts. You can call me Renie. What's your name?"
"Branca Neves," she said, and Renie giggled.
"What's so funny?" Branca asked.
"Your name; it's Snow White."
"In English, I know," Branca said as if she were saying it for the hundredth time. "I have two brothers, so far, that my daddy says are my dwarfs. He says my mommy might get five more so I'll have seven. But my mommy told him Keep dreaming, so I might not."
"My auntie's name is Branca too," said Renie.
"What's her other name?"
"I don't know, I forget. I just call her Titia Branca."
Branca came to play at Renie's house after school one day, and then stayed for supper. But it was after Papai had gotten mad and stopped liking Renie, and Renie got that awful feeling in her chest. But when she was with Branca and having fun, her chest forgot to hurt for a while.
They got off the school bus at Renie's stop and Mamãe was there waiting for them. She held
their hands and they skipped the whole way home.
Renie and Branca had so much fun playing in the backyard. But then Papai came home and drank whisky, and the fun stopped. And when Mr. Neves came to pick up Branca, Papai talked really loud and couldn't say all his words right, so he sounded silly, except when he said some bad words. And then everyone looked sad, and Mr. Neves took Branca home, and the next day at school Branca said she couldn't come to Renie's house anymore. Branca said Renie could come to her house, but Papai wouldn't let her. And now they were only friends at school and sometimes after church. And now Branca had other girlfriends and they could go to each other's houses, so they were more fun than Renie.
§
Mr. Alverez said, "All right, Branca, what can you tell us about Pedro Francisco?"
"He was the Giant of the Revolution," Branca said.
"Very good, Branca, I'm impressed," the teacher said. "How did you hear about him?"
"My father told us. Pedro was a patriot and a friend of George Washington's."
"That's right," Mr. Alvarez said, addressing the entire class, "In fact, George Washington, the Father of our Country, said that if not for Pedro Francisco, a Portuguese immigrant, we might never have won the Revolutionary War. And Pedro was just a teenager at the time, not much older than you.
"He had come to America all alone on a ship when he was just five years old. He was kidnapped from the Azores. And the cruel captain of that very same ship abandoned the little boy on the docks in Virginia.
"Well, eventually he was adopted by the uncle of Patrick Henry, remember him? Give me liberty, or give me death!
"Peter grew so tall and so strong that he became a blacksmith. And when he was sixteen, he joined the Continental Army and became their strongest and bravest soldier.
"He was so big and so tall that General Washington had a special five-foot-long sword made especially for him.
"Though you won't find him in your history book, he should be in it. Peter Francisco, the Giant of the Revolution. The Portuguese immigrant patriot who saved our country..."
Renie sat up straight and smiled. She listened with rapt attention as Mr. Alvarez became increasingly animated and enthusiastic. Renie thought she might not want to be a nurse when she grew up, after all. She might want to be a teacher instead.
Chapter 18
June 14, 1970
PETER AHEARN AND Cindy Everhart, accompanied by their respective best friends, Chip O'Connell and Linda Gonsalves, maneuvered through dozens of family and friends in the back yard of the Ahearn home at Hollistown Harbor. The party was in celebration of Peter's graduation from Gloucester High School.
Most of the guests had been received at the Ahearn home barely three months before, following the funeral of Tommy Ahearn, who had been killed in action in Vietnam. Some of the somberness of that day seemed to have carried over.
Marybeth Valente asked her husband to keep an eye on their son, Mark, and then wove through the crowd to find her brother. Peter and Cindy had stopped to chat with next door neighbors, Frank and Irma Schmidt.
"That new car's a beauty," Frank was saying.
"Thanks, Mr. Schmidt. It's a '66 Dodge Dart GT. It's not exactly new, but it's new to me," said Peter, "It's a graduation gift from my parents."
Marybeth joined the group. "Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt, thanks so much for coming," she said.
"Little Mark is so precious," Irma said, "I could just eat him up."
"Hmm, precious is not the word that comes to mind when I'm chasing after him."
"Well, that's to be expected: snips and snails, and puppy dogs' tails, you know," Irma said.
Cindy smiled. "I think you're just so good with him, Marybeth. I hope someday I'm half the mother you are."
"Oh, I'm sure you will be," Marybeth smiled coolly. She hadn't forgotten the way that Cindy had insinuated herself into the family during their time of grief, even going so far as to stand beside Peter while the family received mourners at Tommy's wake.
Marybeth turned to Peter. "Have you seen Ma?"
"No," he said, his brow furrowing. He quickly scanned the crowd. "I see Dad over there by the barbecue, but I don't see Ma anywhere."
"She went into the house a while ago," said Cindy. "Do you want me to help you find her?"
"No," Marybeth said. "You stay here and enjoy yourself with the other guests, I'll find my mother."
Marybeth went inside and instinctively headed to her parents' second-floor bedroom. The door was closed. Marybeth knocked and, after pausing for a moment, opened it. Katherine Ahearn sat in a Victorian ladies' chair, a framed portrait of Tommy in her lap. She was stroking the glass-covered image of her son's face with the fingers of her right hand.
"Ma?" said Marybeth.
"May-bet," Katherine answered. It was a nickname Marybeth had given herself because she hadn't been able to pronounce her name when she first started speaking. It had stuck because John and Katherine thought it was cute, and the entire Ahearn family had called her May-bet until she'd entered the sixth grade and announced that she would no longer answer to that baby name.
"Are you all right, Mother?"
"I'm fine, Darling. Do you need me for something?"
"No, I just didn't see you outside and wanted to make sure you were okay."
Marybeth crossed the room and knelt on the floor beside her mother. She rested her head on Katherine's shoulder and looked down at the photo of Tommy.
"I'm going to miss him so much," Marybeth said, "for as long as I live."
Katherine stroked her daughter's hair and smiled. "You know, I was just thinking about the way Tommy used to follow me around when I vacuumed. Do you remember that old Electrolux canister vac? Tommy was just a little tyke, maybe two or three years old, and he loved the feel of the warm air that blew out the back of it. Wherever that vacuum was, he'd lie down behind it. He used to put his elbows on the floor and prop up his head in his hands, close his eyes, and let that warm air blow on his sweet little face."
Katherine's smile disappeared. "God, it makes me so angry, foolish wars. Now Peter will go too, and there's nothing I can do to stop him. He didn't discuss it with me or your father, of course. He just marched right down on his eighteenth birthday and enlisted. I know what he's thinking: He has a misguided notion that he'll somehow avenge Tommy's death. And how? By killing some Vietnamese mother's son.
"He'll leave for boot camp in a few weeks, and soon after he'll be in Vietnam. And I won't sleep a wink. Your father will worry, but he won't be kept up nights like I will.
"You see that worn spot on our headboard?" Katherine turned her head and nodded in the direction of the full-sized bed she shared with her husband. A faded softball sized spot on the maple headboard was lighter in color than the finished maple surrounding it.
"That's where I would rest my head while I sat up waiting for all three of you to come home at night. Your father would snore away, but I could never sleep until I'd heard the front door closing behind the last of you."
Mother and daughter were quiet for a long time. When Katherine Ahearn spoke again, her voice quavered. "It's true what they say: It's an awful thing to outlive a child. I don't know what I'll do if we lose Peter too. I just don't think I could bear it.
"I should have seen this coming. I should have known how Peter would react. He's always been very loyal and very impulsive. I was so lost in grief that I didn't pay attention. I might have been able to stop him."
Marybeth had moved from her mother's side to the bedroom window and absent-mindedly surveyed the crowd in the backyard. Her father was cooking hot dogs and hamburgers on the brick fireplace grill that he had built years ago. A few feet away, Peter was emptying bags of ice into a large metal cooler. On the other side of the yard, Cindy, Chip, and Linda were huddled in the shade of a maple tree. Chip must have said something funny because both girls were laughing hysterically. Marybeth bristled as she watched Cindy lean her forehead against Chip's chest and place her hand on his bicep. She had
heard stories about Cindy's promiscuity. Rumor had it than she had been seen entering a Rockport motel room with her high school English teacher, a thirty-seven-year-old married father of three. Marybeth believed it.
"Don't worry, Ma, Pete will be fine, I just know it," Marybeth said absently.
Chapter 19
June 14, 1970
AFTER THE GRADUATION party Peter Ahearn drove his red Dodge Dart through the darkening back roads of Cape Ann. Cindy sat next to him, and Chip and Linda shared the backseat. The quartet passed a joint around and took chugs from a bottle of Thunderbird wine that Chip had procured with the help of an older cousin.
Peter was on the way to the O'Connell house to drop off Chip when he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw his two friends kissing. He grinned, tapped Cindy on the shoulder, and motioned for her to look behind. She swiveled around in silence, and watched as Chip's right hand traveled a path from Linda's right knee up to her left, blouse-covered breast. Linda tolerated the grope for a few seconds before she took Chip's hand in hers, guided it back down to her knee, and patted it gently. Lips never parting and eyes never opening, the couple repeated the process so many times that it caused Cindy to giggle.
"This can't go on forever," Cindy said. "One of you has to give in."
The couple practically leaped away from each other.
"Well, it's not going to be me," Linda said, her face crimson.
Chip didn't say a word. He just looked at Cindy, raised his eyebrows, and grinned. This made Linda sigh with indignation and Cindy laugh.
Peter held the steering wheel with his left hand while he reached into the back seat with his right and playfully swatted at Chip's knees. "Don't make me stop this car young man. You behave yourself back there."
Laughter erupted in the car. Even Linda, try as she might, couldn't suppress a smile.
After he dropped off Chip and Linda at their homes, Peter drove Cindy to the house her mother rented in East Gloucester. An old screened pie safe sat on the front porch. Cindy's mother worked as a waitress at a local seafood restaurant, but she and Cindy supplemented her income by baking pies at home. They stored them in the pie safe, and sold them on the honor system. Cindy's mother was named Eleanor, but to many she was known as The Pie Lady. Peter knew that Cindy was embarrassed by her mother's moniker.
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