She felt a sharp tug in her heart, thinking of his distress. It hurt her, too. That’s how she knew that it was true, what Liza had said a few days ago—she had come to care for Nolan. His hurt was her hurt. She wished she could help him let go of this lawsuit and focus on some project or goal that was more positive and productive.
Nolan claimed he would never give up the fight, sounding so noble. But how was this noble quest serving him? By his own admission, he had already wasted at least five years and come away with nothing. As one grew older, time was so precious. How much more would he waste in this pointless fight?
Claire suddenly took a step back, knowing she was judging too much now. She didn’t even know the entire story; only what Nolan had told her so far. Clearly, he had to work through this in his own way. All she could do was stand by and pray that he did work through it, that something good would come of this battle and all these delays.
Dear God, please help Nolan today. He’s so distraught. If he’s supposed to learn something from this drawn-out lawsuit, please let him learn it. Please help him get past this grievance and move forward.
* * *
NOLAN did not come down for lunch, or even for dinner. Claire was concerned and brought him trays of food for both meals. But he hardly touched a bite. When she stood in the doorway of his room that night, to take away the dinner tray, his room looked as if it had been hit by a private snowstorm; the balls of wadded-up paper covering the floor were that deep.
He didn’t seem to notice, sitting at a desk near the window, just as she’d seen him all day, writing and writing, page after page. Hunched over the desktop, his reading glasses slipping down his nose, while many files, retrieved from the black trunk, were spread about all around him, on the bed and bedside table. He wrote and wrote, and often cast the sheets off and onto the floor.
Claire had to practically wade through the balls of wadded-up, rejected pages in order to pick up the tray on the night table.
“How’s it going?” she asked finally.
Nolan barely raised his head. “Hard to set the right tone. I want to back up what I say with the facts of the case, of course. The facts are the important thing. The rest is just posturing, roosters in a barnyard, squawking and flapping their wings. I won’t be fooled by that. The facts of the matter are in my favor entirely,” he insisted. “And so are the legal precedents. I’ve researched this thoroughly, even better than my attorney.”
Claire nodded. “Good for you. Sounds like a good strategy.”
“It is,” he assured her, returning to his writing. “Please tell Liza I’ll be back to work tomorrow without fail. But perhaps I can borrow your Jeep to run this letter down to the post office at some point during the day?”
“I’m going into town tomorrow afternoon. I can mail it for you,” Claire offered.
“I’m sure you could, but I prefer to see it off myself. I’ll hitch a ride if that’s all right.”
“That would be fine.”
Claire welcomed his company, though she hoped his mood would be evened out by the next day. He did seem a little calmer and more himself already, she thought as she left the room and closed the door.
* * *
NOLAN was already working outside by the time Claire came down to make breakfast the next morning. Guests were scheduled to arrive that evening, after dinner, so it wasn’t a terribly rushed day.
She was glad to see Nolan up and out and hoped he had shaken off his dark mood of the day before. When he came in for lunch, he did seem more cheerful. A short time later, after all was prepared for the new guests, they set off for town. Edison jumped in the backseat, and Nolan’s letter sat in his lap in a large manila envelope, addressed to the law firm in bold, black letters.
The package looked very substantial, Claire thought; the letter had to be many pages long. He had not asked to borrow Liza’s laptop, so it had been handwritten. Claire wondered if his attorney would balk at reading it. From what she’d seen so far of Nolan’s penmanship, it was more like a secret code than commonly known letters.
She dropped Nolan at the post office and did her shopping, then picked him up a short time later. He looked happy and satisfied, and that made her feel happy, too.
“That letter will give him something to think about,” Nolan said as they drove through the village and headed back to the island. “He’s a smart young man, my attorney. But his head is still stuck in schoolbooks. He hasn’t had any life experience and doesn’t think outside the box. I know he appreciates my perspective.”
Claire wondered if that was true. It was probably irksome to receive fifty-page letters from your client telling you how to do your job. Maybe the young man was just too polite to object.
She waited for a good opportunity to tell Nolan what she had been thinking about—that he ought to consider giving up this case, or just giving it over to some higher power and allowing whatever will happen to just happen. Meanwhile, his energy and focus would be free to work on new ideas. And he clearly had so many of them.
But Nolan talked on and on about the letter and what might happen next, as if it were all some elaborate chess game. Claire couldn’t quite find a good moment to introduce her perspective.
As they headed back toward the inn, she had an inspiration. She passed their turn and took another route, the only other big road on the island, which led to the north side. Nolan didn’t seem to notice, until suddenly he stopped talking.
“Aren’t we going back to the inn? This isn’t the usual way.”
“I thought we might take the long way around. You’ve never seen the famous cliffs—the reason the island got its name. This is the perfect time of day for viewing them.”
It actually was, a bright and mild summer day, not too hot at all, even in the strong sun. It was late afternoon, too, when the light on the rock formations would be absolutely breathtaking and really show the curves and wind-worn grooves that had given the cliffs their name.
“Oh, you mean the cliffs shaped like angels’ wings?” Nolan turned to her. His tone wasn’t scoffing . . . but almost.
Claire remained calm. “Those are the only cliffs we have around here, and well worth a little drive out of your way, believe me.”
Nolan shrugged. “I’d like to see them. I’ve heard enough talk about them by now.”
He had heard talk. Not just from Claire, but from the many guests at the inn who would ask about the cliffs, go out to see them, then report their visit at the breakfast or dinner table, usually showing off their photos.
“I’ve seen so many pictures by now, I feel as if I have visited them,” Nolan complained good-naturedly.
“Photographs don’t really do the cliffs justice. Not like a firsthand viewing. It’s more of . . . an experience. As well as a beautiful view.”
Nolan glanced at her but didn’t reply. He stared ahead and then suddenly sat up straight in his seat.
Claire steered the Jeep around the last bend in the road, and the legendary cliffs—jagged, gold-colored sandstone, came into full view.
They looked quite majestic today, Claire thought. As if someone knew that this extraordinary sight was about to be scrutinized by a scientist—and a skeptic.
It was nearly four, and the sun was starting to sink toward the sea. The late-afternoon light reflected on the rolling blue waters and on the feathery curves of gold sand.
The road inclined uphill and she pulled the Jeep over to the sandy shoulder. The jagged outline stood out in stark contrast to a backdrop of dark blue sky. The cliffs did indeed look like wings, crescent-shaped and cupped, a point flaring out at the bottom, like a long feather.
Before Nolan could say anything, Claire opened her door. “Let’s get out and walk a bit. So you can get the entire view.”
“All right, good idea.” He got out of the Jeep but gently pushed Edison back inside and told him to stay. The loo
kout point was very high, and the dog was not on a leash, as usual. Claire was relieved she didn’t have to worry about him.
Nolan followed Claire along a narrow path to a space where they could stand and look out over the rocks and crashing water.
She waited for Nolan to say something, curious to hear his impressions of the place, whatever they might be.
“Very unusual,” he said finally. “People keep yammering about a legend. What is that again?”
“Back in the late sixteen hundreds, the first colonists to settle in Cape Light were struck by a plague of sorts during their first winter. The illness was so contagious, the town fathers decided that all who took sick had to be quarantined out here, on this island. There was no real name for it then, and it was completely uninhabited.”
“So they were left out here to die. Very cruel, but thought to be for the greater good,” he reasoned.
“I believe that was their reasoning. The sick ones were visited from time to time by folks from the village, who came out on boats with food and supplies. But the winter set in harsh and cold, with many storms. The harbor froze, and no one could visit for many, many weeks. When spring came, it was assumed that everyone out here had died. A search group was sent from the village to see what had happened and bring back any remains for burial. But when they arrived they were astonished. The sick ones had all recovered and were perfectly healthy. They claimed they had been visited by beautifully dressed men and women, who ministered to them in the worst of the winter and cured them with a healing touch. And so these cliffs, with their winglike shape, drew their name. The survivors of the plague, and all the townsfolk who heard the story, believed the sick ones had been visited by angels.”
Nolan nodded, his mouth a thin line. She couldn’t tell if he was trying to hold back laughter or trying not to interrupt her with some objective, fact-filled rebuttal on how and why this story was simply not possible.
“Visited by angels. What a lovely thought. What a lovely tale,” he added. “It’s perfectly obvious that the rocks have been carved by the unceasing friction of the wind and water, resulting in these pretty, arched formations.” He pointed at the golden sandstone. “I’d be interested to see the oldest pictures or images of these cliffs. I’ll bet they looked quite different then. And decades to come from now, well, these curvatures of stone will all be worn away. The angels’ wings will be clipped,” he said abruptly. “Though that sweet story will probably live on, as such fairy tales do.”
“You’re not the first to make that assertion, Nolan. Though it is a thoughtful one,” she granted him. “The thing is, very early drawings of these cliffs, dating back to the Colonial era, show them exactly as they are now. With no loss of the rock or change in the shape over the centuries. In fact, geologists have been out here studying the cliffs and the wind patterns and tides and just about any physical factor. And it’s been verified. The rocks simply do not change.”
Nolan cast a doubtful look in her direction. “Really? I’d like to see some of those studies.”
“Maybe we can find them on Liza’s computer tonight. I know they have copies at the Cape Light Historical Society.”
“I’ll take a look sometime. Facts are facts, Claire. Facts don’t lie. It’s the one thing you can depend on. Not people,” she heard him murmur. He suddenly looked over at her. “You don’t really believe all that . . . that fairy story, do you?”
Claire knew very well what he thought of the story, and could only guess what he thought of people who believed it. But at the risk of losing his good opinion and even having him think less of her intelligence, she had to be truthful.
“I do,” Claire said bluntly. “But you’re free to come to your own conclusions.”
“I certainly am,” he said with a laugh. “I’d say those Colonial settlers felt very remorseful about what they had done to their sick relatives and neighbors. So they concocted that tall tale to ease their conscience. And it was a culture that would explain just about any natural phenomenon with some supernatural cause.”
“By supernatural, you mean God?”
He tilted his head. “Yes, I suppose I mean God and angels and all that. No offense,” he quickly added.
“No offense taken.” Claire shrugged. This wasn’t going at all as she had hoped. Then again, she didn’t know exactly what she had been hoping for. That Nolan would have a more open mind about the cliffs and the legend? She already knew he would only see the scientific explanation.
Still, she felt something had to be said. Something about his lawsuit and the way he was so focused on this quest that he was missing out on the wonderful ideas and inventions he could be developing. “Nolan, I’m sorry you don’t believe in God. But even so, I have to tell you that I’ve been praying for you,” she confessed.
Nolan looked at her with surprise. Instead of the condescension she expected, a certain softness came into his glance. “You have? Praying for what, may I ask? That I stop insulting Liza’s guests and mixing up the dinner orders?”
Claire had to laugh. “I’ve been asking God to help you let go of your struggle. To help you step back and see that you have so many wonderful ideas for inventions to develop, you can’t waste your best years fighting over that one you lost.”
“I see.” He nodded curtly. “Has God answered you yet? Or was that letter I received the other day the answer, do you think?”
Claire had never thought of the letter that way. And she wasn’t about to answer his question, either. “I think that God sent you to this island to help you. To help you out of this rut that you’ve dug yourself into. There now, I’ve said it. I’m usually not so blunt, but . . . well, you talk that way sometimes. Now you know what it sounds like.”
Nolan looked shocked. Then leaned his head back and laughed.
“I do talk like that. It does sound pretty . . . rude.” He sighed. “I understand your point, Claire. But I don’t think you fully understand my side of it, what I’ve been through, what I’m fighting for. This man betrayed me, cheated me. I can’t just shrug it off and walk away. I know I act extreme at times, but I have to persevere. If I give up, I won’t be able to live with myself.”
“I see.” Claire nodded, thinking she had gone too far, said too much. “I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn like that. You’re right; I don’t really know the whole story.”
He met her glance and smiled at her. “I’m not a praying man, you know that about me. I don’t believe that God is speaking to me through rainbows and four-leaf clovers and shooting stars.” He waved his hand at the sky. “But I am honored and deeply touched to know that someone as kind and good and true as you are, Claire North, has said a prayer or two for me.”
Claire was touched by his words. She didn’t know what to say, and was even more surprised when he took her hand and twined it into the crook of his arm.
“We’d better get back to the inn. Liza will be wondering what’s happened to us,” he said. “Watch your step. It’s quite slippery up here. I’m not sure the angels are fast enough to catch us if we take a tumble. Are you going to argue with me about that, too?”
Claire was so shocked by Nolan’s show of affection, she didn’t answer, just shook her head. It felt quite comfortable and natural to be led along by him on the stony path. She felt . . . cared for. It seemed he did care for her, just as Liza had said. Claire’s heart did a little flip as he politely opened the car door for her and helped her inside.
When Nolan went to the other side of the Jeep to open the passenger door, she noticed that he had left his hat on the seat.
It was a dark blue Red Sox baseball cap, turned upside down. She was about to pick it up and take it out of the way, so he wouldn’t sit on it, when she noticed a curious sight.
“Wait, Nolan . . . your hat.”
She pointed at the hat but didn’t touch it.
“I was afraid it might bl
ow off in the wind, so I left it.” He picked up the hat, put it on his lap, and slid into his spot.
She pointed down to the cap again, to the contents within. “What’s that?” she asked, even though she knew full well what was stuck inside.
He looked down, too, and pulled out a pure white feather. He studied it a moment, then looked at her.
“I didn’t put it there,” she said, though he had not accused her.
“I don’t believe you did. I was with you every minute outside the car. Unless you’re a magician, adept at sleight of hand.”
The accusation was so silly, she didn’t address it. She was sure that he was teasing her, anyway.
“A bird must have flown by, and the feather drifted in. Simple explanation,” he said.
“I didn’t see one bird while we were out here. No less, one that flew over the car. Did you?” she challenged him.
He shrugged. “Maybe we didn’t notice. We were talking. Not bird-watching.”
Claire thought a moment. “Edison’s been in the Jeep the whole time, and he didn’t bark. If a bird flew that close to the Jeep, don’t you think he would have gotten excited?”
Considering the way Edison carried on when he spotted even a tiny sparrow, Claire could not imagine the retriever sitting still for a bird that approached that near to him.
Nolan shook his head, as if flustered by her counterarguments. “You would have made a good scientist, Claire. You do consider all the variables. Maybe the feather just drifted in on the wind. That’s possible, too, don’t you think?”
“I suppose,” Claire replied. Though she thought the chance of that was very unlikely. She knew where the feather had come from.
Claire drove toward the inn and let the matter drop. As they traveled in silence, she noticed that Nolan started to toss the feather out the window. Then he pulled his hand back and slipped the feather into his shirt pocket when he thought she wasn’t looking.
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