The Island of Heavenly Daze

by Angela Hunt

  She worked her hand in the soil. “Isn’t it wonderful, Doctor Marc?” she said, not looking up. “Caleb managed to salvage twelve tomato plants.”

  “Doctor Marc isn’t anywhere around.”

  Whirling, Annie saw Olympia towering above her, gardening tools in hand. Her aunt’s face was pale and drawn, and she looked unsteady on her feet.

  The women’s eyes met and held.

  “Aunt Olympia—” Annie searched for words of reconciliation. She had been wrong, and she said hurtful things she didn’t mean. One look at Olympia’s strained features told her that Olympia was also regretting the spiteful exchange. They were grown women; surely they could have handled the episode with more grace.

  Drawing a deep breath, Annie said softly, “I’m sorry; please forgive me. I had no right to say such hateful things. I don’t want to cause you any more pain than you’re already going through with Uncle Edmund.”

  Olympia was Olympia; she behaved like a de Cuvier, and she always would.

  Adjusting the brim of her straw hat, Olympia’s gaze focused on the box of plants. “Your mother wasn’t uppity. She thought I was.”

  Annie looked down and digested the comment in silence. It was as close to an apology as she’d ever heard Olympia utter.

  “May I help?”

  Staring upward, Annie wondered if Olympia had taken leave of her senses. Was she really offering to help with a project she believed would fail?

  Whaddya know—another miracle.

  Annie pointed a trowel toward the box of wounded plants. “I’d love some help. Dig or plant?”

  “Plant. I have a green thumb, you know. Every summer my vegetable garden puts Vernie Bidderman’s to shame.” Olympia slowly lowered herself to the ground, wincing as her knees sank into the dirt.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Why would you ask?”

  “No reason.”

  Shrugging, Olympia set to work, following behind Annie, setting a plant in the ground, then covering the roots with topsoil.

  The tension dissipated as Annie dug and Olympia planted.

  “I didn’t know you and Vernie competed with summer vegetable gardens.”

  “Ayuh, I suppose there’s a lot of things we don’t know about each other.” Olympia paused, her voice dropping to a hush. “I’m not happy with that arrangement, and I’d like to correct that, Annie.” She kept her head bowed, her eyes on the plants.

  Was Olympia actually offering an olive branch? Annie drew a deep breath. “I’m not happy with the way things are between us, either.”

  “Would you like for it to be different?”

  Annie glanced up, meeting her gaze. “I think I would.”

  “Then I guess I’m asking if it’s possible for us to start over.” Olympia’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Could we, Annie? Maybe this time I won’t make so many mistakes.”

  Annie’s heart twisted. Start over? Was that possible? There’d been so much hurt; so many misunderstandings and miscommunications stood between them. How could they erase all those years?

  “It won’t be easy,” Olympia conceded, as if she shared Annie’s reservations. “But I understand that the first step in solving a problem is acknowledging there is one. If we can do that, then maybe, with the Lord’s help, we can be friends. I’d like that very much.”

  Annie liked the sound of that, too. After friends came family; perhaps if they mastered the former, the latter would fall into place.

  “I’d like to be your friend, Aunt Olympia. I’d like that very much.”

  It was a start.

  Olympia set the last plant into the ground and carefully scooped dirt around the roots. “You planted them too close together last time. Tomato plants need plenty of room to grow or they’ll choke each other out.”

  “Like people?”

  Olympia reached over and touched Annie’s arm. “Ayuh. Like people.”

  The road to reconciliation might be long and rocky, but for the first time since coming to Heavenly Daze, Annie’s heart filled with hope.

  Golden shadows lined the carriage path when the elderly butler drove Annie to the five o’clock ferry.

  The pleasant scent of wood smoke hung in the air as Blaze clopped along the leaf-strewn path, the horse jauntily picking up one foot after the other.

  Enjoying the beautiful October afternoon, Annie couldn’t help but notice that the island was actually very lovely. During her growing up years, she’d thought of it as a Godforsaken place valued only by recluses and sea gulls, but today she saw a different Heavenly Daze. Late afternoon sunshine gleamed through branches of vibrant simmering colors. Someone was burning leaves, the pungent aroma lightly scenting the crisp air. She could see how someone who needed serenity and a sense of communing with nature could easily find Heavenly Daze a peaceful haven.

  Which had changed—the island or her values? She couldn’t answer because she didn’t know. Something in her needed challenge and independence. On the other hand, something even deeper needed roots and a sense of belonging. A home.

  A small crowd had gathered near the ferry to see her off. Springing up on the front seat beside Caleb, Tallulah barked, her tail set into motion by the sight of the Grahams’ bulldog, Butch.

  “Easy, girl,” Caleb warned, chuckling. “Butch sees you.”

  “Looks like half the town’s come to see you off,” Olympia observed.

  “Me?” Olympia had to be mistaken, but Annie spotted Birdie and Beatrice milling around, their expectant eyes trained on the approaching de Cuvier carriage.

  There was Doctor Marc . . . and Pastor Wickam and his wife, Edith. A harried Babette Graham chased after Georgie, unsuccessfully trying to corral the spirited child.

  As Caleb brought the buggy to halt, Annie saw other smiling faces: the Lansdowns, Vernie Bidderman, and the Klackenbushes.

  Caleb sawed back on the reins and the carriage rolled to a stop at the dock. Bounding off the front seat, Tallulah made a beeline for Butch. The two dogs set off with noisy yelps, each trying to outrun the other.

  An emotion crept over Annie that she was powerless to explain. It wasn’t exactly a feeling of belonging, though if she were asked to identify the emotion suddenly crowding her heart, belonging might come closest. She’d been gone too long to feel any genuine connection with the cheery smiles beaming her way, but the reception triggered something unexpected inside her.

  “There you are, dearie!” Birdie skittered over to meet the new arrivals. “We wish you didn’t have to leave so soon!”

  “Ayuh, so soon,” a winded Beatrice seconded when she caught up. The postmistress took a deep breath and straightened her hat. “Now you come back more often, you hear?”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Coughlin. As a matter of fact, I’ll be coming home every weekend to check on my plants.” After getting out of the carriage, Annie turned and offered Olympia a helping hand. The older woman accepted, holding tightly to her niece’s hand.

  The two women smiled at each other. “You’ll really be back this weekend?” Olympia asked.

  “Yes, Auntie.”

  Lifting Annie’s two bags free of the carriage, Caleb set them on the dock as Captain Stroble reached up and pulled the warning whistle. The clear, shrill pitch pierced the fading sun-drenched afternoon.

  Annie and Olympia stood staring at each other until the whistle sounded a final time.

  Olympia’s features momentarily crumbled, then, regaining control of her emotions, she offered a tentative smile. “I feel that we’ve reached a turning point,” she said softly. “I’ve never been good with change. Edmund will be gone soon, and—” Her voice broke and she was unable to finish the thought. But she didn’t have to.

  “I’ll be back every weekend,” Annie promised again. “You’ll be so sick of me by January you’ll rue the day you ever took me in.”

  Olympia’s cheeks flamed. “I’ll never rue that day.”

  Annie gave her aunt the tenderest smile she could muster. “Caleb
will be here, and I will be here. You will never be left alone, Aunt Olympia.”

  Stepping closer, Annie embraced her, feeling an instance of resistance, then her aunt relaxed and gently patted her back.

  Annie whispered, “You don’t have to sleep with Rocky Bear. You can get your hugs from me.”

  Olympia snuffled, then stiffened. “Now that’s enough of that. You need to be on your way.”

  Smiling, Annie pulled out of the embrace. In time, maybe Olympia would loosen up, but until then, she’d take and give what comfort she could.

  The captain called, “All aboard that’s coming aboard!”

  Annie faced Olympia, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Take care of yourself.”

  “I will. Now you call me to let me know you got home all right.”

  Nodding, Annie self-consciously swiped at tears. “I will, right after I pull into the drive.”

  Briefly hugging Caleb, she turned and called goodbye to the friendly folks who’d come to see her off.

  “Don’t wait so long to come back!”

  “Ayuh, plan to stay longer next time!”

  With one hand atop his head (probably holding that toupee in place) Winslow Wickam picked up Annie’s bags and motioned her aboard the ferry.

  Annie looked at the toupee and rolled her eyes, then grinned at Olympia. Both women burst out laughing.

  Tallulah shot onto the gangplank, closely followed by a scampering Butch.

  “You drive carefully, Annie Cuvier, you hear?” Olympia called.

  Waving over her shoulder, Annie called. “I will.”

  “That’s what’s wrong with young folks today; they think they have to get somewhere in a hurry. Run the wheels off a car; spend all that money on gas . . .”

  Olympia was still rattling on as Birdie gently turned her toward the waiting carriage.

  “Now, how about that tea?” Annie heard Birdie ask. “Beatrice and I will follow you home, and don’t you fret, we’ll bring the muffins.”

  As Annie took her place at the rail, she saw Olympia turn to stare at Birdie and heard her say, “Muffins? What are you babbling about?”

  Birdie glanced back at Annie, uncertainty playing on her features as Cleta and Edith walked up.

  “We’re ready for tea.”

  “What tea?”

  “Earl Grey!”

  “Who’s Earl Grey?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Olympia. Remember your muffins?”

  “My muffins?”

  Annie pressed her lips together to smother a grin. Some things would never change in Heavenly Daze, but one thing was certain—they all had a lot of growing yet to do. Just like those tomatoes, she had to leave her little hothouse and face reality, beginning with her family.

  Caleb was right. Here, in the harsh winter winds and the spray of sea salt, she would learn how to live.

  Chapter Seventeen

  After putting Annie on the ferry, Winslow went back to the parsonage and settled into his study. A full week had passed since the introduction of the Hair, and he thought he’d done a pretty fair job of acquainting the people of Heavenly Daze with their new and improved pastor. Last Sunday evening he had made a list of every local resident, resolving to visit at least one family each day to bring some measure of spiritual joy and peace into their lives.

  On Monday morning, he had caught Birdie and Beatrice at Birdie’s Bakery. Abner Smith, Birdie’s helper, greeted Winslow with a rather secretive smile, then disappeared into the kitchen and left the preacher alone with the two sisters: Birdie, who had never married or lived away from Heavenly Daze, and Beatrice, who had married Mr. Coughlin and moved to Portland, where she volunteered in the local library until that gentleman’s unfortunate and untimely passing twelve years ago.

  Winslow suspected that Beatrice might have something against him, for she was on Cleta’s church committee and known to be pro-Hartwell. She seemed receptive to Winslow’s call, however. Maybe she had fallen under the charm of the Hair. Birdie was more forthright—“What brings you down here, Pastor?”—but when Winslow explained that he was simply trying to stay in touch with his parishioners, she plied him with doughnuts and enough coffee to supply an entire office of H&R Block agents on April 14.

  In an effort to win Beatrice’s loyalty, Winslow assured her that librarians were dear to his heart, for his own sainted mother had worked for the Boston College Law Library. Beaming like a new mother, Beatrice then asked if Winslow would like to hear a dramatic reading from Edgar Allan Poe. “I don’t get to do as much reading as I used to when I served as a librarian,” she said, demurely dropping her gaze to her lap, “but if you have some time to spare, Pastor . . .”

  What could he do? As Birdie leaned her elbows on the bakery counter and winked at Winslow, Beatrice pulled a lace handkerchief from her bosom and proceeded to wave it above Winslow’s head, visibly punctuating the syllables as she quoted a stanza of Edgar Allan Poe’s poem “The Bells”:

  Hear the sledges with the bells—

  SIL-ver bells!

  What a world of MER-riment their melody foretells!

  How they TINK-le, TINK-le, TINK-le,

  In the icy air of night!

  While the stars that over SPRINK-le

  All the heavens, seem to TWINK-le

  With a crystalline delight;

  Keeping time, time, time,

  In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells

  From the bells, bells, bells, bells,

  Bells, bells, bells

  From the JING-ling and the TINK-ling of the bells . . .

  By the time he left the bakery (after buying a baker’s dozen of Birdie’s best crullers), Winslow felt as though he walked home in a syncopated rhythm—to the TOOTing and the HOOTing of the foghorns.

  Winslow spent Tuesday at Frenchman’s Fairest. As Doctor Marc explained, the ailing banker was slipping further away with every passing day. “The thing about disease,” Marcus said as Winslow sat by Edmund’s bedside, “is that whatever is inside a man tends to come out when pressure is applied. His faith makes him a joy to care for—he has never complained. Edmund was always a godly gentleman.”

  “I remember that about him,” Winslow said, pressing his hands together as he studied the lined face above the edge of the blanket. “Edmund de Cuvier loved God with all his heart.”

  “He still does, Pastor.” A faint note of rebuke lined Caleb’s voice. “He still does.”

  Winslow prayed for Edmund, then wrapped his hand around the sleeping man’s palm. Edmund did not open his eyes, but for a moment Winslow was certain he felt the older man’s hand tighten around his own.

  The mood was definitely more lively downstairs. Tallulah had found the bag of crullers Winslow dropped by the door, and her shaggy face was covered with chocolate icing by the time he discovered the dog.

  “Horrors,” Olympia moaned, bringing both hands to her cheeks when she surveyed the mess on her oriental carpet. “That will have to be cleaned. And that dog will have to eat nothing but low-calorie dog food for a month.”

  Winslow exited before Olympia decided to put him on a diet.

  He earmarked Wednesday morning for the Lansdowns. To win favor with Cleta and Floyd, he took one of Edith’s blueberry pies to the B&B, then grinned in satisfaction when Cleta carried on as if he’d given her the moon. He said a quick hello to Barbara, the Lansdowns’ shy daughter, and tried not to look too disappointed when he learned that Russell had already gone out in the lobster boat.

  “That’s a shame, for sure,” he said, settling back in the antique rocker in the Lansdowns’ front parlor. “I was hoping we might convince Russell to join us at church on Sunday.”

  Barbara blushed. “Doubtful,” she said.

  “Don’t you worry about Russell,” Cleta said, waving her hand as if the matter were of no consequence. “Just because he’s not with you in body doesn’t mean he’s not with you in spirit. A man can get mighty close to God out there on the
ocean, especially if a storm whips up.”

  Floyd Lansdown leaned forward and tapped the bowl of his pipe into an ashtray. “Or if a fire breaks out in town. Did I ever tell you, Pastor, about the restaurant fire that broke out a few years back? Put me in the hospital for two days, it did.”

  Winslow pressed his lips together. He’d heard the story about twenty times, nineteen times from Floyd himself, but the man never tired of telling it. But if he had to hear it again to keep the Lansdowns in his corner, well—

  Lifting his hand, Winslow glanced at Barbara as if a sudden idea had just occurred to him. “Before your father tells his story, Barbara, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

  “Me?” The tip of Barbara’s nose went pink—probably the result of so much direct attention from a Hair guy. Come to think of it, Russell’s hairline was receding fast.

  “Yes, you.” Winslow leaned toward her, relieved as much by Floyd’s willingness to drop the fire story as by Barbara’s answer. The poor girl was usually so shy that she ran from any attempt at conversation at all.

  “I was wondering,” Winslow lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “if you and Russell might be thinking of starting a family. We can always use new blood on the island, you know, and there’s not a person in Heavenly Daze who wouldn’t love to hear the pitter-patter of little feet. After all, Georgie Graham is almost six now . . .”

  A deep, painful red washed up Barbara’s throat and into her face, as sudden as a brush fire. “Oh!” she cried, then she stood and ran out of the parlor. As her footsteps thundered from the wooden staircase, Winslow turned his bewildered gaze to her parents.

  “You know that’s a touchy subject,” Cleta said, lifting a knowing brow. “Best leave that alone.”

  “Ayuh.” Floyd thumbed another wad of tobacco into his pipe, then pointed it, stem forward, at Winslow. “But we were talking about the fire, weren’t we, Pastor? You new folk wouldn’t understand how serious the situation was that day . . .”

  Winslow rested his chin in his palm, politely nodding in all the appropriate places.

  New folk. He and Edith had watched over thirty- seven hundred sunsets on Heavenly Daze, and yet they were still considered new folk.