In the Light of the Garden: A Novel

by Heather Burch

  He poured all his strength into moving the debris. Everything was slick, but as he shoved, so did Daisy and Harold, both of them using what energy they still possessed. The water was so high on Daisy that she had to lean up to get fresh air. Her head was tipped back, her face frozen in panic. They’d only moved the boards a few inches. And it wasn’t enough.

  Dalton would need to use the truck. Maybe he could roll forward and bump the debris. But that was risky, and time was running out. “I’m going to get the truck.” He started to turn, and Daisy yelled for him.

  He dropped to his knees beside her.

  “Dalton, don’t.” Her blue eyes were round with fear. If the load shifted wrong, it would bury her.

  She reached for him. “Take my wrists. Pull as hard as you can. Even if it jerks my arms out of their sockets.”

  All the air left his lungs. A thousand thoughts crashed through his mind.

  She stilled. “Dalton. It’s the only way.”

  He touched a hand to her cheek. Cold, soft as velvet. There was a smattering of tiny freckles across her nose. He’d never seen them before, but now in the glow of the headlights, they made her look like a small child. Helpless. Depending on him. He swallowed the emotions that gripped his system. “OK. I won’t let you down,” he whispered.

  She smiled. “I know. Use all your brute strength and your love. Even if it’s not love for me.” When his powerful hands closed in a death grip around her wrists, she nodded. “We got this. Go!”

  With all the strength he had, Dalton closed his eyes and pulled. He saw Daisy in his mind’s eye, then his wife, Melinda. And then Kissy. When one hand slipped, he screamed and tightened his grip. When the debris finally released her, he tumbled to the ground. With the shifting of the load Harold was able to scurry out on his own.

  Dalton jumped to his feet, and when Daisy stood on shaking legs, he wrapped his arms around her so completely, it made her quaking instantly stop. His quaking began. He took a sharp intake of air, and when he released it into the night, his tears mingled with the rainwater. There, he held her while Harold made his way to them. And he thanked God that they had cheated death.

  “They’re coming!” Charity and her mother had been waiting on the front porch when they saw the headlights from Dalton’s truck in the distance. Harold’s car followed, both turning into the driveway. Charity rushed out and grabbed Daisy in a crushing hug. “Is anyone hurt?”

  The men were right behind her. “We’re all fine—a bit shaken, but not hurt,” Dalton said. They entered the house and left a puddle on the floor, all three wet and shivering. Ellen grabbed the stack of towels and wrapped Daisy in one. She rubbed her hands against Daisy’s shoulders in an attempt to warm her up.

  “There’s a hot bath waiting for you upstairs,” Charity said to Daisy. “I’ll walk up with you.”

  Daisy shook her head. “It’s OK, Charity. I’m not stupid enough to run away twice in a hurricane.”

  Ellen handed Dalton a towel.

  Daisy sighed. “I shouldn’t have left. It was a stupid thing to do. And dangerous. Thanks for not giving up on me.”

  Charity hugged her again and watched as the girl disappeared up the stairs.

  Ellen shook the rain from her hands. “There’s stew in the kitchen. Personally, I’m over all the excitement. I’m going to bed.”

  Before her mother could leave, Charity snagged her hand and squeezed it. “Thanks, Mom. I’m glad you were here.”

  Ellen blew out a breath. “I’m glad I was, too. But now I’d rather be home in New York.” Charity grinned and watched her mother shake water from her arm as she grumbled and climbed the stairs, leaving her, Dalton, and Harold at the door.

  It wasn’t until after she’d wiped up the water puddled on the marble floor that they heard the cracking and falling sound that sent them running toward the back of the house. “What now?” Charity mumbled. Heart stopping as she gripped the kitchen window, Charity peered out to find that a large palm had just missed hitting the sleeping porch, her pottery studio now filled to the brim with plants and looking like something you’d see in a futuristic movie on a distant planet where all the nourishment was grown in tiny glass rooms.

  She’d lost a palm. Not a big deal. They were all inside and safe. Plus, the weeping tree was fine.

  CHAPTER 14

  Aftermath

  Charity had finally fallen asleep around three in the morning. Early the next day, the sounds of an island alive had interrupted her restless night. Hurricane cleanup was a common occurrence, and the island residents all joined the effort to restore the town to its prehurricane glory.

  By noon, three neighbors had stopped by to see if everyone was all right and to share the bits of gossip floating around on after-storm winds. No casualties in town; the old boat shed had been destroyed—as they well knew—but damage to Founders Hall seemed the worst. Charity’s only casualty had been the felled large palm tree. The weeping tree had weathered the storm like a champ, and though she still couldn’t bring herself to step beneath the branches, she also couldn’t explain the ones that had draped her shoulders as she’d cried.

  In town, the buildings were fine, and the water was receding. Founders Hall had been vulnerable due to being in midrepair when the storm arrived. Now, more than ever before, they needed a new venue for the ball.

  Charity found Harold sitting in the gazebo outside. Water had touched its edge but was already sneaking back out to the sea. Dalton had brought her plants from the sleeping porch and replaced them in the garden. Things were beginning to look like they had prestorm. She handed Harold a cup of coffee and sat down.

  Charity’s attention went to the sea, which was alive with movement, bits of debris, and the occasional coconut drifting onto the shoreline. The sun was as bright as she’d ever seen it, throwing sparks of light onto the vibrant water. “You’ve been quiet since last night. Everything OK?”

  Harold rubbed a weathered hand over his knee. “I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

  The air thickened with tension, enough to pull Charity’s gaze from the exuberant water. Harold’s wrinkles were deep, his soft, blue eyes filled with ghosts.

  “I wasn’t supposed to be here, and if I hadn’t been, that girl would have died.”

  Charity reached over and placed her hand on his. “It was a blessing that you were here. Things are meant to be.”

  Pale blue eyes turned and studied her. In them, she saw years, life, regret. “I’m gonna leave. I think it’s best.”

  What was he not saying? “Do you need to get back to the dance studio?”

  He pursed his mouth and turned away. “Yes.”

  But the words didn’t ring true. “Harold, what’s going on?” He’d barely mentioned the studio since he’d been there.

  “I, uh, don’t exactly own the studio anymore.” He stood and started to walk away, but Charity caught his hand and encouraged him to sit back down. Once he did, he told her the story of losing the studio by making a very bad judgment call.

  Charity shook her head. “There has to be something we can do. We’ll buy it back. I have money, Harold. Lots of money.”

  He patted her hand. “Nah, Lil’ Bit. Sometimes you have to let things go. I’m OK with leaving it. I’d planned to sell.”

  She stood. “But not to lose it. Not like this. I have an attorney. I’ll call her. See what she can come up with.”

  “You need to know what the girl and I talked about last night. I expect you know about the pictures of Marilyn and me?”

  Charity nodded. But though she’d been tingling with curiosity, now it seemed unimportant—in the light of nearly lost lives and stolen businesses. “Whatever happened between you and Gram was obviously a long time ago.”

  “Daisy asked me if I was in love with Marilyn.” He folded his hands in his lap and stared out at the water. “She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. Honestly, I figured everyone who laid eyes on her was in love with her. But she picked me to be her frie
nd and then to be her—”

  “You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.” It seemed too painful for him. And Harold had been through enough.

  “I want you to know.” His gaze was tight on her, eyes glistening marbles of certainty.

  Charity listened to his tale and fought back her own emotion.

  “And maybe that’s why I find it easy to lose the studio. Easier than it should be. It just seems like every good thing that comes into my life, leaves me. Every single one.” Harold dropped his head.

  Charity glanced up and saw Louise coming toward them. “Hello, Louise.”

  Harold came up off his seat quickly. She’d come from the side of the house that separated the mansion from the Barlows’ home.

  Louise smiled and stopped at the foot of the gazebo. Her eyes were on Harold, and there was a fresh electricity in the air that Charity recognized as chemistry, not the kind couples experience when they first meet, but a recognition born of years of mutual appreciation. This woman couldn’t have been more different from the one she’d met yesterday who seemed terrified of Harold.

  “Please, join us.” Charity moved to make room for her.

  Louise smiled. “I can’t stay, but I wanted to make sure everyone was all right. I heard about what happened.” Her eyes kept flittering to Harold as if she couldn’t get enough of him and at the same time couldn’t look him in the eye.

  “We survived,” he said, nodding, and as Charity zeroed in on his response to Mrs. Cready, she realized there was a schoolboy nervousness in his manner.

  “I’m very glad.” She turned to walk away.

  Harold stopped her. “Louise?”

  She turned, gripping the edges of her light jacket as if the material could anchor her. “Yes?”

  Harold rubbed the back of his neck. “It’d sure be good to catch up with you.”

  She blinked several times. “I’m sorry for the way I reacted, seeing you. From the distance, you so resembled George, and he and I spent a lot of time together while he was ill.”

  Harold stepped down the gazebo steps to her.

  For a long moment all was silent. Though Louise claimed she’d thought Harold was George, there seemed to be much more going on than a moment of mistaken identity.

  Harold started to reach out to touch her hand but stopped himself. Charity watched as he captured the runaway hand with the other. He forced a bright smile. “Please, Louise. Could we just go for coffee? It’d mean the world to me.”

  It was only coffee, for heaven’s sake. And yet, Charity knew the woman was about to say no.

  Louise tilted her chin back. “Coffee would be nice.”

  The excitement Harold tried to hide crackled around them. He offered an arm to Louise. Smile in place, she brushed it off with a shake of her upturned palm. Harold sank his hands into his pockets, and the two headed around the side of the house.

  Dalton met Charity on the gazebo after the elderly couple disappeared. “What was that about?”

  She offered him the cup of coffee Harold hadn’t drank. “Harold was in love with my Gram. Before she and my Gramps were together, of course, but it’s strange to think of your grandparents that way.”

  “You told me once that Harold and your grandfather had a falling-out. Think it was connected?”

  She’d wondered about it, but no. The pictures were from decades ago.

  Dalton took a sip of the coffee. “It’s cold.”

  “It was for Harold, but he’s distracted this morning.”

  “By memories?”

  She cocked her head. “By Louise Cready. I think there’s a story there. She said the reason she freaked out yesterday was because George and Harold look so much alike, and she’d been with Gramps a lot before he passed.”

  “Do you think she and your gramps . . .”

  Charity chewed her lip. “You know, I don’t really think so. She seemed more distracted once she knew it was Harold.”

  “So, they knew each other way back when?” He took another drink and grunted.

  “Yeah. I think they might have known each other pretty well. She seemed very apprehensive. But also relieved that he was OK after last night.”

  “How’s Daisy?” Dalton set the cup on the railing.

  “She’s good. Came down for breakfast and then went back to bed. She said it was OK to call her mother, but I want her to be the one to do it,” Charity said.

  “Got any decent coffee in that house of yours?”

  She bumped his shoulder. “I don’t know. You going to get the rest of my garden in order today?”

  He shrugged and headed for her door. “Not without caffeine.”

  “It’s sure difficult to find good help these days.”

  They fell into step side by side. “Yeah. Almost as difficult as finding grateful neighbors.”

  Charity hugged her mother good-bye—she’d decided that whether Ellen liked it or not, she was going to do it—and opened the car door for her. “It was a short visit, Mom.”

  Ellen fluffed the hair Charity had mussed with her physical affection. “Well, Leonard wants me home.”

  Something about the way she said it gnawed at Charity’s gut. “Mom, he’s not . . . mean to you, is he?”

  Ellen flashed a dazzling smile, but it didn’t match the look in her eyes. “No, Charity. He’s just demanding. And the girls are demanding, especially now with the new baby. The three of them are hard to please.”

  So much sadness filled her mother’s voice, Charity fought the urge to hug her again. “What happens there? The girls have moved out, right?”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t stop them from coming over and asking for my help on anything and everything that should be their responsibility.”

  “Can you say no?”

  “Oh, I do. Then they call their father. And he urges me to help. We’re a family, Ellen. That’s what we do. Apparently that holds true for them, but not for me. I had a flat tire once and ended up sitting at the tire shop for five hours because Portia didn’t feel like leaving her apartment to come get me.” She waved a hand through the air. “It doesn’t matter. I have a beautiful house and a perfect wardrobe and enough money that I’ll never have to wonder where my next meal will come from.”

  Charity squeezed her mother’s hands. “Mom, you don’t need him for that. Gramps left me money. We’ll be OK forever.”

  Ellen threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, Charity. You’re so naïve. Money can go very quickly. It may seem like a lot.”

  “It is a lot.” But something in Charity’s gut told her not to pursue this part of the conversation further.

  “I love him. He’s everything I looked for in a man, and I will stay with him until the day he dies.”

  And then she’d have his money, Charity realized. She was in it for the long haul, and there was a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

  Her mother crossed her arms over her ribs. “And I’ll have earned every last dime.”

  Charity swallowed. “You sound bitter, Mom.”

  “Portia had been asking me to babysit every Friday night so she could go out with friends. After a few weeks I told her no, that I had other plans. Then her father decided Friday would be our date night. I was thrilled. We’d never had a date night. But the first one, he called from the office and canceled—said he had too much work to do. Then he told me that Portia needed a babysitter, and surely I wouldn’t mind since our plans were off.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know things were like that.”

  “It’s been worse since the baby. But Sonia, my housekeeper-slash-best-friend, has helped keep me sane.”

  “I’m glad you have a friend.”

  “Unlikely pair, we are. But even when I first met her, I was drawn to her. She had this air of worldliness about her. So confident. And she was happy. Can you imagine? Being a maid for people and being happy with it?”

  Charity could easily imagine that.

  “I mean, she’d lived this incre
dible life. Sometimes the princess and sometimes the servant. But content with all of it.”

  Charity remained quiet because this was the very thing she felt her mother had always lacked, a contentment with the present. She’d always strived for more, more, more. A wealthier man, more money, a better figure, more prestige.

  “Anyway, she’s European. It’s different for them.” With a dismissive shrug, Ellen slid into her rental car.

  Charity sighed. Maybe her mom would never figure out what was really important in life. Or even worse, maybe her mom would figure it out too late to make changes.

  The coffee shop in town was open, and Harold and Louise walked the few blocks to get there. Harold found himself reminiscing in his mind about all the times he’d made this trip with Louise at his side and George and Marilyn a few paces behind them. The urge to reach down and take her hand was strong—just as he’d done a thousand times—but he slipped his hand into his pocket instead, squeezing arthritic fingers into a fist so they wouldn’t reach out on their own. She’d been so skittish the day before, he didn’t want to frighten her away now.

  “Funny how it all changes, and yet it all stays the same, isn’t it?” Louise cast a glance at his profile. He wanted to look back at her but opted for a slight nod of the head.

  “I guess we’ve lived long enough to know how resilient things can be.” Though there were branches down everywhere, the island was already in a belligerent state of recovery.

  She chuckled and slipped her hands into the low pockets of a soft-yellow frock worn over her pale blue blouse. “Do you remember the day George borrowed that sailboat and the four of us got lost?”

  Harold gave a good-natured grunt. “How could I forget? It was at night, and we were on the far side of that little island divvying up the last bits of water when we heard a car honk and realized how close we were to land.”

  Louise tipped her head back and laughed. “We were quite a foursome.”

  As they neared town, the sounds of island cleanup grew louder. Pickups hauled debris, while locals removed the sandbags that had protected their storefronts.