Cape Light

by Thomas Kinkade

  “Look, Rachel and Jack,” Ben said, pointing out their daughter and her husband dancing together to a slow ballad. He was quiet for a moment, then added, “They look happy, don’t you think?”

  Carolyn nodded. “Yes. They seem very happy together. That’s a blessing.”

  “For all of us,” Ben agreed. “And we’re lucky that the two of them decided to stay here in Cape Light. Some parents aren’t so fortunate.” He thought of the Potters and other couples they knew who had to be content with visits from their children two or three times a year.

  Carolyn’s smile slowly grew wider. “And it’s going to get even nicer.”

  Ben turned to his wife with a questioning look.

  “In about seven months, to be exact,” she said. “Another blessing for us all should be arriving.”

  Ben’s mouth hung open in shock. “Rachel’s expecting?”

  Carolyn nodded happily. “You’re going to be a grandfather, Reverend Lewis. What do you think of that?”

  Ben sat up straight in his chair. He took his wife’s hand. “When did you hear?”

  Carolyn put her finger to her lips. “Just tonight. I wasn’t supposed to tell you yet, so act surprised. Rachel took one of those home tests. She’s seeing a doctor next week to make it official.”

  “What wonderful news.” Ben’s face glowed with happiness, and Carolyn resisted the urge to give her husband a hug. Instead she squeezed his hand even tighter.

  Ben was happy that his wife and daughter shared such a close relationship. It might not have worked out that way. But Rachel had matured into a very special woman. And in his eyes Carolyn had always been special.

  “The baby is due at the end of December, just in time for Christmas,” Carolyn went on. “Maybe Mark will come home for a visit.”

  “Yes, maybe he’ll come to see Rachel’s baby,” Ben said, nodding. “He’s always been close to his sister. He might come for her.”

  “Yes, he might,” Carolyn agreed quietly.

  Ben reached over and took her hand again. They glanced at each other but, by unspoken understanding, agreed not to discuss the matter further. At least, not now.

  They had not seen their son in several years, ever since he’d dropped out of Brown University in his junior year. For the past four years Mark had been wandering from town to town in the Southwest, working odd jobs. A period of finding himself, some might call it. Ben and Carolyn had both tried to be patient with him. To understand that he needed his own space to work things out. But over time their patience had slowly worn down to frustration. They simply yearned to see him, to talk things out. To understand what he was going through. But how could they help him if he only pushed them away? Mark even went so far as to deny that there was a problem, any rift at all.

  Maybe with the arrival of Rachel’s baby, this precious new link, the Lord will mend the broken places in our family circle, Ben thought hopefully. A scrap of a quote came to mind that lifted his spirits, though he couldn’t recall the author.

  “ ‘A baby is a messenger of peace and love, a link between angels and men,’ ” he said quietly to his wife. “I can’t remember where I heard that. I think it might be part of a poem.”

  Carolyn smiled, taking in the words. “I don’t recall that one. But I’ve often felt that way myself.”

  The couple sat quietly, holding hands as they listened to the music and watched the dancers. Although their conversation about Mark had touched on a sensitive nerve, Carolyn felt a comforting silence draw them together.

  She stole a sideways glance at Ben. Her husband didn’t look like a grandfather. Somehow, he still looked the same as the day they’d met—especially his bright gaze and easy, warm smile. His medium height and hardy wrestler’s build suited her, and she loved his thick, reddish brown hair, now threaded with gray. He’d always worn glasses, she recalled, but he didn’t have the beard back then, which was now neatly trimmed, close to his cheeks and jaw. It was mostly gray now, as well. She could hardly remember what Ben looked like without it.

  When the slow ballad ended, Joe Morgan took over the banjo. Carolyn saw Joe’s son Sam leading his thirteen-year-old niece, Lauren, out to dance. Sam’s dark good looks and muscular build were typical of the Morgan men, as was his wide, warm smile. With her big brown eyes and curly dark hair, Lauren resembled her uncle so much that they might have been mistaken for father and daughter. Sam was certainly a father figure to his nieces, Carolyn knew, ever since his sister Molly had gotten divorced. Sam helped a good deal with Molly’s two kids. And Molly needed the help. The girls’ father wasn’t giving either financial or emotional support.

  Lauren had started piano lessons with Carolyn a few months ago and was making great progress. Sam often brought her or picked her up from the house. Carolyn suspected that he also footed the cost of the lessons and other “extras” for the girls. Carolyn wouldn’t have charged at all, under the circumstances, but Molly had insisted.

  Carolyn wondered why Sam didn’t have a family of his own by now. He seemed to love children. Tonight he’d come without a date, she’d noticed. But his entire family was here at the Potters’—six sisters and brothers altogether—most of them married. The Morgans were a wonderful clan, from hardworking Yankee stock. Their ancestors had been among the town founders, and many of the current generation had remained on Cape Light, living in the village or nearby. Carolyn knew Joe and Marie well from church. And Sam, who attended Sunday service regularly, was always quick to lend a hand when the church required carpentry or other repairs.

  “I like the sound of a banjo,” Carolyn remarked to her husband. “It’s perfect for a summer night.”

  “Yes, it is,” Ben agreed, enjoying the lilting music. “I didn’t realize Joe was so good.”

  “Mmm . . .” Carolyn was looking at Sam Morgan dancing with his niece. “I wonder why Sam is still single,” she said.

  Ben laughed. “Now there’s a non sequitur if I ever heard one,” he teased. “How did you jump from the banjo to Sam getting married?”

  Carolyn gazed at him and smiled. “It would make perfect sense if you were a woman,” she told him. Ben heard a trace of her southern accent in her words, a trait that still made his heartbeat quicken.

  “Many things would make more sense, I have no doubt.” He squinted as he tried to remember what he knew about Sam. “I think Sam had a girl a few years back. I believe they were even engaged. But it didn’t work out.”

  “Yes, I remember,” Carolyn said, still watching the dance. “But that was several years ago. Long enough to try again, don’t you think?”

  “Well, I think it depends on the person,” Ben replied. “Are you plotting some matchmaking, Carolyn?”

  “Who, me? Not at all,” his wife said innocently. “I’m not the type, you know that by now. Besides, I’m sure Sam has no trouble finding his own dates. He’s certainly handsome enough.” Then she glanced at Ben and added, “Not as handsome as you, dear. Of course.”

  “Of course,” the reverend agreed.

  “I just wondered, is all. Sam is such a nice young man. The settling down type, I mean. I would think he’d have found someone by now.”

  Ben hadn’t really thought about it before, but he had to agree. Sam was a good man, mature and responsible. Generous with his time and friendship, giving in a true Christian spirit. He was a fine-looking man, too. No doubt about that. It did seem curious that he wasn’t married, or at least attached.

  The reverend’s conversations with the younger man had never touched upon matters of the heart. Perhaps Sam’s failed romance had hit him harder than he’d ever revealed. Maybe he was afraid to try again.

  “To everything there is a season,” Ben reminded his wife.

  “Yes, of course. That part goes without saying.” She glanced at him briefly and squeezed his hand.

  Now she and Ben were about to enter a new season in their lives together—as grandparents. Though she’d long looked forward to it, she found that notion remarkabl
e. How had the years passed so quickly? She’d turned around and her children were grown. Rachel, married now, having her own baby. Carolyn felt a bit older, it was true . . . but not that much. Not deep down inside, in some immutable part of the self untouched by time. Some days it felt as if she and Ben had just arrived here in town, when in fact, it had been nearly twenty years now.

  But to the good people of Cape Light, even two decades of residence still made one a newcomer, without generations of ancestors buried in the cemetery outside of town. Carolyn sometimes still felt like an outsider. They were fleeting moments, to be sure, but vivid ones. Especially at a gathering like this one. She’d been raised in the South and knew she was different from many of her neighbors. They were superficial differences, for she truly believed that inside, everyone shared the same spirit. Still, those small differences sometimes set her apart, set her at a distance from others. She’d tried to reach across that breach her whole life.

  But tonight Carolyn was truly enjoying herself, part of the flow of life around her. Sitting beside her husband, she focused on the moment: the music, the company, the night sky above, and the reassuring touch of Ben’s hand in her own. She pushed aside unhappy memories of the past and fears about the future. She was here now, happy and at peace, with plenty of faith and love to sustain her.

  EMILY WARWICK WAS THE LAST TO ARRIVE AT THE Potters’. She parked her blue Jeep at the bottom of the hill, then started up the long gravel-covered drive, her gaze fixed on the old house that sat atop the hill. Each passing year seemed to bring the place some new indignity, Emily thought, noticing the crooked shutters, the peeling paint, and the sagging front porch. But in the darkness, with every window glowing with a warm golden light, the pale yellow Queen Anne–style home was a remarkable-looking piece of architecture.

  A few families with small children were already on their way home and greeted Emily as they passed by. A few languid party guests, seeking a break from the music and revelry on the wide porch, also waved to her. Emily waved back, but she didn’t stop to chat.

  She had been mayor of Cape Light for the last two years, but most of the citizens addressed her by her first name. That was the way she preferred it. Emily had lived here nearly her entire life and knew that her familiarity was a large part of the reason she’d been elected. Unmarried and without children, her job was her life, a twenty-four-hour-a-day commitment. Or obsession, depending on how you looked at it, she reflected wryly.

  While Emily hated to think of herself as a politician in the worst sense of the word, it was hard sometimes to separate her public persona from her authentic inner self. But tonight she’d come to the gathering as a longtime friend of the Potters—and just another fan of Sophie’s famous shortcake.

  She moved past the house and followed the path through the cutting garden. It was filled with waves of pink stasis and daisies, blue and purple bearded iris, and the bold-faced lilies. Tufts of greenery promised plenty more to come: black-eyed Susans and pink coneflowers, Sophie’s glamour-girl dahlias, and for the summer’s grand finale, rows and rows of sunflowers.

  Sophie always cut her bouquets early in the morning. Then she set them out at a roadside stand, along with pies, jars of honey from her bees, and baskets of fruit. There was a shoe box, too, for the money. It was the honor system all the way, but it worked around here, Emily knew. That was one reason she’d stayed in Cape Light all these years.

  Emily reached the end of the garden and gazed ahead. The field, with its glowing lights and happy crowd, was just a short distance away. She hardly noticed the man in the shadows nearby.

  “You’re late, Mayor.”

  Emily turned to see Dan Forbes standing behind her on the path.

  “Was it a full roster of appearances today? I didn’t think the campaign kicked off until August.”

  Emily greeted him with an easy smile. “Who said I was even running again? I don’t believe I ever did.”

  “Sorry, I stand corrected, then.” Dan’s tone was serious, but he gave her a knowing grin.

  Emily had known Dan for years yet couldn’t really say she knew him well. He owned and ran the local newspaper, The Cape Light Messenger, first published by his great-grandfather. Now that she was mayor and he was “The Press,” Emily was Dan’s official moving target. They got along relatively well, despite some conflicting opinions on town issues. Still, Dan kept her on her toes, from an unbiased distance. Sometimes Emily wondered if that was due to his professional training or simply his personality.

  “On your way out?” she asked.

  “Just taking a break before the fireworks. Being my typical unsociable self,” he admitted.

  Dan fell into step beside her, and they continued walking toward the gathering. “I hope you find something left to eat. It was a pretty good spread.”

  “I’ve already eaten. At my mother’s,” Emily told him.

  Dan felt a guilty twinge for needling her. Of course, she’d been keeping her bitter pill of a mother company tonight—just about the only person in town who would. Emily was a good daughter. Too good, Dan thought, for Lillian Warwick, who was now—and always had been—an emotional tyrant. The old woman’s recent health problems had only made a bad situation worse. Emily had born the brunt of it, Dan suspected.

  Her younger sister, Jessica, had returned to town a few months ago to help out. He was sure that the Potters had invited Jessica tonight, as well, but the younger sister was more like her mother. Probably thought she was above the company.

  Emily wasn’t that way. Dan had to hand her that. She was easygoing and unpretentious. Straightforward, too. He liked that about her. She seemed to have real concern for the town and genuine connections to its residents. Considering her upbringing, he sometimes wondered how she had escaped the Warwicks’ exalted mind-set.

  Sophie came up to them and enveloped Emily in a huge hug, her beads and bracelets jangling. “Emily, dear. I’ve had my eye out for you.”

  “Hello, Sophie. Better late than never, I hope,” Emily apologized.

  Dan politely stepped aside, preparing to slip away, when he noticed a group of children racing from the orchard.

  He could tell immediately that they weren’t playing a game. Something had happened. Something bad.

  The kids’ high-pitched shouts and desperate faces quickly drew everyone’s attention. The dance music abruptly stopped, and everyone ran to see what was wrong. One of the Bates boys, Charlie Junior, commonly known as C.J., was leading the pack of children. He ran straight to his father.

  Charlie Senior bent low and took firm hold of his son’s shoulders. “What is it? What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

  The boy was breathing so hard he could barely speak. “Bees got loose,” he managed. “Some kid knocked into the bee house and it tipped over.”

  Charlie stood up and frowned. “What do you mean, some kid? Did you do it?” he demanded.

  “No, it wasn’t me, Dad. Honest,” his son promised, sounding on the edge of tears. “They’re flying around the orchard, Dad. Maybe they won’t come this way,” he added lamely.

  C.J. glanced from his father to his mother, Lucy, who had quickly stepped over. The boy looked up at her hopefully. Her pretty face took on a tight look, and she slipped an arm around her son’s shoulders.

  By now Gus and Sophie had heard the alarm. “Everybody into the house!” Gus shouted. “Head for cover!”

  But the guests milled around, confused and unwilling, or simply not understanding why they had to disperse.

  “The bees are loose!” Gus called. “Get to the house. Or into your cars. Please.”

  Sophie was the first to spot a few of the vanguard bees. They were headed straight for the dessert table.

  “Heaven help us, here they come,” Gus said in a strained tone.

  “Just keep everyone back,” his wife instructed. “I can take care of it.”

  She moved forward and he grabbed at her arm. “Are you crazy? You’ll get yourself stung to death.
”

  “Calm down. I know what I’m doing,” Sophie insisted, brushing him off.

  She then took the gauzy overslip layer of her dress and tossed it up overhead from the back to the front, so that it covered her face and hung down to her chest, like a Spanish mantilla. By now, all of the guests who had not run for safety stood in a tight knot at the far end of the field.

  As Sophie walked with slow, deliberate steps in the opposite direction, some of her guests cheered on her on. “Go get ’em, Sophie! That’s the way!”

  But others soon hushed the cheerleaders, and even Gus stopped urging people to seek cover. Everyone stood perfectly still and silent, mesmerized by the sight of Sophie in her long gown and makeshift veil, bathed in moonlight, striding across the field as purposefully as a bride.

  Finally the swarm approached, wafting out from the orchard like a humming black plume of smoke. Sophie stood still, waiting, her arms stretched up to the sky.

  Later some would say they’d heard Sophie Potter call the bees to her with a special song. Some would even argue that she did a special dance. But they would all agree that she slowly turned, her arms stretched out to either side. The swarm of bees settled over her body, twisting around like a small black tornado. And when Sophie stopped turning, she stood covered with a teeming, buzzing black mantle, which coated her arms and chest, back and shoulders, even her head.

  In awe, Dan Forbes watched silently. But he still managed the presence of mind to grab a camera from a nearby table and snap a photograph.

  Then Sophie started walking into the orchard, her steps painstakingly slow, as if she balanced a stack of crystal goblets on her head.

  Some couldn’t watch and covered their eyes. Sophie’s oldest daughter, Evelyn, watched but bit down on a finger until she tasted blood. Fearing that the bees would be disturbed and start to sting, no one dared to utter a word while Sophie stood in sight. Gus kicked at the dirt and berated himself silently for permitting his thick-headed wife to attempt such a thing. And the Reverend Ben, staring at Sophie wide-eyed, whispered a prayer.