Summer Shadows

by Gayle Roper

  “But he’s so different from Sam!”

  “Of course he is. And she’s so different from Sam’s wife.”

  Hannah scowled at the phone. Abby had said the same thing not so long ago.

  “I think that she may have finally grown up.”

  “Len, she’s not grown up! She’s become like a defiant teenager, only worse.”

  “No, I don’t think so. I think she’s finally become her own woman. We should be thanking God, not trying to impede the process.”

  “You think that’s what I’m doing? Holding her back?” Hannah’s temper flared again. “Who still calls her baby all the time? Not me.”

  There was silence from the other end of the phone. As it stretched out longer and longer, Hannah sighed. “I’m sorry, Len. That was nasty of me.”

  “Maybe, Han, but you’re right. I’m every bit as guilty as you are.”

  Hannah twitched and walked to the sliding door. She opened it, stepping outside. “I don’t know if guilty is the right word, Len. If we’re guilty of anything, it’s of loving her so much, of wanting her to be happy.”

  He was quiet for another long minute. “What if the hopes and dreams we have for Abby aren’t God’s?”

  “Len! We’d never want anything for her that wasn’t honoring to the Lord.”

  “I know that in the general sense. But what about the specifics? Do we know what the Lord has planned for her in the jots and tittles of life?”

  “If we don’t have at least some sense of that, who does?” Hannah leaned against the railing and inhaled the salty air, hoping it would ease the horrific headache that had hatched at the base of her skull.

  “Maybe Abby does?”

  “But we’re her parents!”

  “We’re not infallible. Maybe we’ve been wrong to try and hold her at home. Just because we thought it would be good for her doesn’t mean that God thinks it would be good for her. I mean, did we ever ask Him if she should stay or go out on her own?”

  Hannah knew she hadn’t. Granted, she hadn’t thought of it, but now that the idea had been presented, she recoiled from it. She watched as Abby and Marsh, hands clasped, walked onto the beach. They were tight in a world of their own as they talked intently about something. Probably about how horrible she was. “But Seaside, Len? It’s so far away.”

  “Lots of kids live farther than that from their parents.”

  There was no arguing with that fact. “What if in her desire to get married again, she chooses unwisely? What if she thinks Marsh is more than a passing fancy?”

  “What if he isn’t? Are we willing to risk losing Abby by taking a stand against him?”

  “She needs someone like Sam! He was so perfect for her.”

  “Then he was perfect for her. I don’t know about now.”

  “You know what she told me? She said that if she met Sam today, she wouldn’t fall in love with him. Can you believe that?”

  “Yeah, I can.”

  Hannah felt like her world had shifted on its axis. “But they were blissfully happy.” Please, tell me I’m right here.

  His sigh slid down the line. “I don’t think so, Han. I don’t think they were anywhere near separating or anything, but I don’t think they were all that happy.”

  No! I couldn’t have been that blind. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I do know what I’m talking about. Sam didn’t understand that a wife who meets you halfway, who challenges you when you need it and even when you don’t, who isn’t afraid to express herself when she disagrees with you is the stuff of a lively and living marriage.”

  She thought of her gentle Abby. He was wrong. He had to be. “Where did you ever get that ridiculous idea?”

  “Han,” he said with a soft laugh, “I’m married to you.”

  That stopped her for a long moment. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

  “The biggest and best. Am I ever bored? Never! I think you’re the most interesting woman I’ve ever met. I thought it when I met you, and I think it now. But are you compliant?”

  “I should hope not.”

  He laughed. “Think about this, Han. Here Abby is, the product of you and me, neither of whom is afraid to express an opinion. How could she not develop that quality herself? Genes will tell.”

  Hannah felt like she had to keep fighting. “But she was always such a good girl.”

  “Because we never gave her the chance to be otherwise. We dominated her from her first breath, and we’re still trying to do it.”

  “But she needs us!” God, she’s got to need me. What do I do if she doesn’t?

  “She needed us once upon a time. She doesn’t now, at least not in the same way. She’s almost thirty, Han. She’s been through the most grievous tragedy and come out of it a strong and wonderful woman with a heart for God. We’re going to lose her if we don’t acknowledge that she doesn’t need us. The fact is that we need her a lot more than she needs us.”

  With tears in her eyes, Hannah watched Abby turn to Marsh and say something that made him laugh. Her skirt whipped in the wind like the sea grasses that grew in the dunes.

  “Han, it’s about control to some degree. We want to control her.”

  “We do not,” Hannah protested. How ugly that sounded. “I do not!”

  “Don’t we? Think back to preaccident. We orchestrated Abby’s life. Who encouraged her to date Sam? Who encouraged her to be an elementary school teacher? Who encouraged them to settle two blocks over? Those are only some of the most blatant examples. Control.”

  Abby lurched as some sand gave way under her bad leg, and Hannah gasped. Marsh grabbed Abby around the waist to steady her, keeping his arm there as they continued to walk. After a few steps, she wrapped her arm about his waist too. For a brief second she dropped her head to his shoulder.

  Unbidden came the thought that Hannah had never seen Sam and Abby walking arm in arm. It was almost like she had been Prince Philip to Sam’s Queen Elizabeth, always walking two steps behind. Hannah banished the thought as unworthy, too judgmental of Sam.

  “Think about the time of the accident, Han. We lost all control. We didn’t know what was going to happen from one day to the next. The lack of order and the absence of control were as difficult for us as watching Abby in such pain.”

  “Stop it, Len! Stop it. I can’t deal with any more.” Hannah felt like her heart was being torn loose.

  “You’ve got to, sweetheart. We don’t have much time to correct our mistakes.”

  “But he’s so wrong for her!”

  “Honey, our opinion isn’t the one that counts.”

  “She barely knows him.”

  “Something clicks between them, Han. I could see that even in the short time I was there over the weekend. At first I was very distressed about it. But as I’ve thought about it more, I’ve come to think that it clicks on a much deeper level between her and Marsh than it ever clicked with her and Sam.” He paused. “I think it clicks more like it clicks between you and me.”

  “Oh, Len.” Hannah started to cry. “I wish you were here so badly I can taste it.”

  “Give me about two hours, and I’ll tuck you in.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve already taken the rest of the week off. I’m getting on the Blue Route in Philadelphia as we speak, heading for the Schuylkill Expressway, the Walt Whitman Bridge, and the Atlantic City Expressway. Destination: Seaside. Pack your bags, Han. I’m not tucking you in at Abby’s. I’ve made reservations for us at a motel downtown.”

  Thirty-three

  MARSH GRINNED AS he and Abby walked along the beach arm in arm. Who’d have thought a week ago that he’d even be walking with a woman, let alone holding her close beside him? And such a delightfully unpredictable one at that.

  Fargo pulled hard on his leash, one of those that you could lengthen or shorten as desired by pushing a button. Marsh thought of a carpenter’s measuring tape every time he clipped the lead to Fargo’s c
ollar. Thankfully Fargo didn’t retract lickety-split like the metal ruler, though the image of the dog flying through the air at the flick of Marsh’s thumb was wonderful. Too bad he didn’t write cartoons.

  Fargo didn’t like being restrained, but he couldn’t be allowed to run free. Aside from the leash laws, more and more people were on the beach. If the huge animal came bounding up to the wrong people, he’d send them screaming for help. The thought of the potential fines made Marsh shudder, to say nothing of the forwarded bills from the psychological counselors Fargo’s victims would need to see.

  Besides, he was a seminary professor. Seminary professors were supposed to obey the law.

  “Have we talked the issue of your mother to death?” he asked Abby.

  She nodded. “I think so, and I’m grateful for your help. I feel like we’re Queen Louise of Savoy and Margaret of Austria hammering out Le Paix des Dames.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You know. The Treaty of Cambria that created peace between France and the Holy Roman Emperor back in 1529.”

  “Where do you pull all these obscure women from, for Pete’s sake?” She amazed him with her grasp of truly arcane trivia. “And am I Louise or Margaret?”

  She grinned at him. “Take your pick. I just hope my peace attempts with Mom are more successful and long lasting than Margaret and Louise’s.”

  “So your original conversation didn’t go well? Even though you told her all that we discussed during dinner?”

  “She was not impressed.”

  “The first confrontation is always the hardest.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says me. Just remember, from now on, no more temper tantrums. No more running and hiding.”

  Abby rolled her eyes.

  “What?” he demanded.

  “I feel like one of your students.”

  He thought back over his comments. “So I was a bit didactic.”

  She blew a raspberry.

  He dug his fingers into her ribs, delighted when she jumped. “I’m a teacher. I’m used to telling people things. Besides, I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “Yeah, but at the moment being told stuff doesn’t go down well, even when the stuff is right.”

  He noticed that even though she was complaining, she wasn’t stepping away from him. “We can’t just chalk this up to telling the truth in love?”

  She dug her fingers into his side, and he winced. “What do you think?”

  “I guess not.” He pushed the leash button to give Fargo lots of lead to chase a seagull.

  “You treat me with great respect, Marsh, even when I don’t deserve it.” She smiled up at him, and those sparkling black eyes did funny things to his stomach. “I cannot begin to tell you how much that means to me. When we talked at dinner, we talked. Give and take. My thought, your thought.”

  He nodded. “So it’s the imperative sentence that gives you heartburn?”

  “Acid reflux of the emotions.”

  He thought about all the times his father gave him orders. He hated it. Then he thought of the times he’d been witness to his dad using the same authoritative manner on his mother. Or trying to.

  “Marcus, you will not address me in that tone,” Mom always said, her eyes stormy but her voice noncombative. “I am not one of your lackeys. Rephrase, please.”

  If his brash, pompous father had learned to rephrase, so could he. “Since the first conversation didn’t go as well as you’d have liked, what are your next steps?”

  From the look on her face, he could tell he’d just scored big points, all thanks to his father. Paradigm shift!

  “Well, I won’t lose my temper anymore. I won’t run and hide.” She ticked her points off by extending a finger for each. “I will address all issues with honesty and love, showing respect for her and Dad. I will pray that the Lord works in their hearts as in mine so that we don’t wound each other but reach a Christ-honoring conclusion.”

  “You’ve got it.” He studied her in the amber light of evening. Even these few days had made a difference in her appearance. Her pallor was gone, replaced by a rich reddish gold that washed across her cheekbones and nose. Her black curls defied her best efforts to contain them, the wind and humidity restyling to their specifications. Her eyes had lost some of the haunting shadows that sat in their depths. She was still too thin, but he had all summer to fatten her up.

  Then there was her smile! It never failed to make him catch his breath. She was smiling now, pleased by his approval. He hoped her good spirits were up to his next question, the one he’d refrained from asking at dinner, the one that was gnawing at him. “Now tell me: What got you so upset today that you couldn’t face your mother?”

  She hesitated, the sparkle dimming, then disappearing.

  “Come on, Abby. You can trust me.”

  “It’s not that.” She stared at their feet for a few seconds. “I’m almost afraid to tell you what upset me.”

  “Afraid? Of me?” He was surprised. “It’s worse than hiding from your mom?”

  She glanced up, then away as though unable to meet his eyes. “Yes, it’s worse. Much worse.”

  He stopped, turning her to face him. “Abby.”

  “But I’m innocent!”

  He had no doubts about this tenderhearted woman. “Of course you are.” She hadn’t the conscience to do awful things and survive. Look how the problem with her parents had tied her in knots.

  She appeared grateful for his words of support, took a deep, fortifying breath, and blurted, “Someone’s accused me of everything from mental instability to child molestation.”

  He was so floored he couldn’t think of one thing to say.

  “Two anonymous letters were sent, one to the head librarian and one to the chairman of the library board.” Her expression was one of bewilderment as she told him about the letters and the reactions of Nan Fulsom and Mr. Martindale. “Why would anyone do something like that, Marsh? How can I ever prove myself innocent of such despicable charges?”

  The worry and sorrow in her eyes tore at his heart. “You’ve worked at the library how long? Three days?”

  She nodded.

  He was silent for a minute, thinking, while she watched him uncertainly. Fargo, impatient with standing around, pulled his leash as taut as he could, running into the water and trying to bite the waves. Then he ran back, circled them, and headed for the water again. In the nick of time, Marsh saw the danger as the leash tightened around their legs. He dropped the lead.

  “The letters don’t make sense to me, Abby.” Absently Marsh watched Fargo race into deeper water, then out again. “You would never do anything inappropriate to a child. All someone has to do is watch you with Jess and Karlee to know that, or listen to you talk about Maddie. You love kids.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You have no idea how much that comment means to me.”

  Fargo went whipping around them again, preparing for another assault on the sea. Marsh put out a foot, stepping on the leash as it slithered by. Fargo jerked to a halt.

  “Come here, you big oaf.” Marsh pushed the button to retract the lead. Soaking wet and very disgruntled, Fargo sidled up to Marsh and Abby. He began to shake. Water flew.

  Hands up to protect her face, Abby stared at the dog. “You did that on purpose.”

  Fargo stilled, tilted his head to one side, and raised his brown eyebrows. “Me? Never,” he seemed to say.

  “Probably,” Marsh agreed, unperturbed. He raised his arm and brushed water from his cheek with the sleeve of his shirt. “Do you have a copy of the letters?”

  Abby nodded. “Back at the house.”

  “How about the envelopes?”

  “No.” She bent and wiped her face on her skirt. Marsh liked it better when she used his T-shirt. “I never gave them a thought.”

  “But you have seen them?”

  She nodded.

  “Were they sent through the mail or hand delivered?
”

  Abby thought for a moment. “Mailed, I think. At least the one to Mr. Martindale was. I remember seeing a stamp on the envelope.”

  “He received it early today?”

  She nodded.

  “So the letter was mailed Monday or Tuesday at the latest.” He looked at her, very pleased with himself.

  She looked back, confused. “I’m not following you.”

  “The first letter, the one about you going to a psychiatrist, is just a nasty mistelling of a truth, right? The grain of truth hidden in the lie kind of thing?”

  She nodded. “The second one is an outright lie.”

  “An outright lie mailed before you’d even worked two days at the library.”

  Abby’s eyes widened as she saw Marsh’s point. “I spent most of Monday with Nan as she showed me around, introducing me to people, telling me about library policies, having me sign insurance papers, stuff like that.”

  “There’s no way you could have done what the letter accuses you of. Even discounting your heart for God and your high personal standards, there simply wasn’t time. Such activity requires a modicum of trust on the part of the victim as well as a lot of privacy. You haven’t been at the library long enough to know the kids.”

  “My desk is right out in the open. I don’t even know where the hidey-holes are. Oh, Marsh!” She threw her arms around him, giving him a hug. “Why didn’t I think of that? All I have to do is talk to Nan about the postmarks, and I prove my innocence. Thank you!”

  He happily held her until she pulled back. There were still the questions of who wrote those letters and why, but they could discuss those issues later. For the moment he’d let her enjoy her vindication.

  “My hero,” she said, smiling at him in a way that made his heart turn over.

  Eat your heart out, Randall Craig. I’ll have to make certain you’re a hero to Marguerite too.

  “I’ve got a question for you,” he said, thinking how strange it was that for a writer everything was story fodder. “Remember when we met, and you told me about some woman who was the first European woman in North America?”

  “Sure. Marguerite de la Roque.”

  “Marguerite.” He nodded. “I thought that was the name. Thanks.” When he didn’t say more, she looked at him in question. He made believe he didn’t see.