For My Daughters

by Barbara Delinsky

  “So’s that coffee. Like somethin’ dahk and evil.”

  “Leastways we agree on that,” Wendell said with a snort. “Town’s goin’ to pot, if y’ask me. Next thing y’know, they’ll be havin’ us put papah in one bin and tin in anothuh.”

  Clarence chuckled.

  “Got somethin’ to say?” Wendell asked.

  “Already doin’ it.”

  “Not me. Not my brothuh Bahney, not my cousin Haskell, not the Chief. Not Hackmoah, eithuh,” he tacked on when the man in question rolled by in his pickup and turned off toward the dock. “You can bet they won’t be doin’ it up at Stah’s End.”

  But Clarence wasn’t a betting man. The world was changing.

  A few years back, the old mill up the road was eaten by termites no one knew about, until one day the flooring collapsed. Clarence figured change would come to Downlee that way, stealing up and eating away until the damage was done for good.

  Listening to Wendell sometimes, Clarence figured a new floor wouldn’t be so bad.

  twelve

  ANNETTE WAS UP EARLY, READY TO LEAVE the house and get busy. Unfortunately, Caroline wasn’t ready. So she went looking for Gwen. She found her in the first-floor laundry room, removing warm towels from the dryer.

  Annette leaned against the washer. “Tell me about Mother.”

  Gwen shot her a bemused look, before folding the towel she held in vertical halves, then horizontal thirds. “What would you like to know?” she asked, making another vertical fold and setting the towel on top of the dryer.

  “For starters, why isn’t she here?”

  Gwen’s look turned droll. “You’d have to ask her.”

  “I would if I could, but since she isn’t here, and since you’re the only one who seems to be communicating with her on any kind of regular basis, I’m asking you. We know that she’s still in Philadelphia, and that she’s stringing us along. I want to know why.”

  “Now, I never thought of her as stringing you along.”

  “Putting us off. She keeps postponing her arrival. Is it her health?”

  Gwen frowned at Annette and reached for another towel. “Her health is just fine.”

  “I know about her blood pressure, Gwen. And her medication, and the irregularity in her EKG. What I want to know is whether feeling poorly is what’s keeping her from joining us.”

  Gwen folded the second towel in vertical halves. “Not that I know of.” She glanced at Annette. “And that’s the truth, though the woman can be stubborn as a mule. I suggested that she let me handle the move and then when all was settled here, go back for her, but she said she was fine on her own. I truly expected she’d be here last Sunday, like she said she would.”

  “Then, you didn’t know of any plan to strand the three of us here, together, without her?”

  “I don’t know of no plan,” Gwen drawled and finished folding the towel with a flourish. “She may be stubborn and wily.”

  “And her health?”

  Gwen hesitated. “She tires faster than she used to. But she is seventy.”

  “Does she take her medication?”

  “Yes.”

  “And watch her diet?”

  Gwen arched a brow. “Do you remember a time when she didn’t?”

  Annette smiled ruefully. Ginny had been a sensible eater all her life—at least, as long as Annette could remember—no, come to think of it, since Leah had been sick. Part of Leah’s recovery had entailed working with a nutritionist, at which time Ginny had cleaned out the kitchen pantry and stocked it with a balanced selection of foods. Likewise, their meals had become more balanced.

  Funny, how the chronology of that had slipped Annette’s mind. Over the years she had come to blame a preoccupation with the menu on Ginny’s fascination with slimness. She wondered now whether the preoccupation hadn’t been with Leah’s health. Maybe even Caroline’s and Annette’s.

  Annette could identify with that, but she hadn’t suspected it of Ginny. Unconvinced, but curious, she asked Gwen, “What’s it like, working for her?”

  Gwen gave a lopsided grin. “It’s like being wealthy without the headaches.”

  “Is she nice to you?”

  “Always.”

  “Warm?”

  “Uhhh—”

  “The truth,” Annette prompted.

  “I’m trying, but it’s not a simple question. She isn’t touchy-feely, if you know what I mean, but she isn’t that way with anyone. She is friendly. She is concerned. Yes, I’d call her warm.”

  “When you say she’s ‘concerned,’ do you mean she’s sympathetic when you have a cold?”

  “Oh, it’s more than that. She’s been good to my family.”

  Annette was intrigued. “In what ways?”

  Gwen took another towel, folded it in halves, then thirds, then halves again. She held it to her chest. “Sometimes I’ve needed help with my son. My girls have done all right for themselves. Both of them went to college. Both of them are married and have careers and kids, and the kids are in college now.” She pursed her lips. “Jackson is something else. That boy’s been in and out of trouble since the day his daddy left, and that was thirty-one years ago.”

  “Legal trouble?”

  “That, and every other kind. It started with truancy and a little car theft. In the middle of that, he got a girl pregnant and nearly got her killed getting an abortion she had no business getting, then he disappeared. He does that,” she remarked dryly, “for little breathers from time to time, only he always returns with worse up his sleeve. He’s been in and out of relationships with women. He’s been in and out of jail. He’s been in and out of college and business. Jackson is an upwardly mobile black man gone wrong. He has dabbled in things I don’t even want to think about, much less pay the price to get him out of, but I’m his mother, so I do it.”

  As Annette would, for her own children if, God forbid, they were in trouble. “What has Ginny done?”

  “She’s helped him get jobs—good jobs—good white-collar jobs. She’s helped him get loans. More often than not, he defaults on the loans and loses the house, the car, whatever, but bless her, she’s always willing to go to bat for him again. She says that he’ll get himself straightened out one of these times, but I’m not so sure. He’s thirty-six years old, for goodness sake!”

  “Where is he now?”

  “As we speak?” Gwen sighed, the towel against her forgotten. “He’s serving time for embezzlement. He stole money from his employer, who happened to be your mother’s friend. You’d think your mother wouldn’t want another thing to do with him—or with me, for that matter—but don’t you know, she has another job lined up for him when he gets out? She is an eternal optimist.”

  Annette was touched. “That’s really lovely.”

  “She’s a fine lady. There are times when I wish I could do more for her. But like I said, she’s stubborn.”

  “Quite,” Annette said, thinking of misleading letters and absenteeism. She was turning to leave when Gwen touched her arm.

  “There is one thing that I did know about,” she confessed quietly. “When your mother originally discussed her plans for this move, she suggested that once everything was unpacked and you girls were here, I should leave. She figured the four of you could manage. She wanted time alone with you, she really did. I’m just as surprised as you that she’s late, much less this late.”

  “Had you made plans?”

  “Only to visit Jackson.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  Gwen looked horrified. “Oh, no. Not until your mama comes.”

  “But she’s apt to be days. And everything is settled here. Really, Gwen. I can fold towels as well as you can, and if I get tired of it, I’ll make Caroline do it. Leah likes to cook. You’ve already hired someone to come in to do the heavy cleaning, and we can do the dusting ourselves. What more do we need?”

  But Gwen was adamant. “I really couldn’t. Not until I’ve seen with my own two eyes that your
mother is here and settled. That’s my job.”

  Annette detected a note of worry, which gave her something to think about other than the phone call Jean-Paul hadn’t made. “Well,” she said with a sigh, “think about it, will you? Mother may yet be a while.”

  It was nearly noon when Leah woke up. Appalled, she quickly showered and dressed, stole downstairs, and sped away from Star’s End before her sisters could call her on sleeping so late. Unfortunately, once off Hullman Road, she wasn’t sure where to go. For lack of anything more familiar, she headed for Julia’s. There, in a quiet corner table that gave her an unobtrusive view of the rest of the place, she ordered a cup of tea. It wasn’t delivered by the waitress who had taken her order, but by a slender woman who looked to be close to her own age. She wore a lightweight sweater over a long, flowing skirt, and had dark, wavy hair that burst from a ribbon at the crown of her head. There was something open about her that put Leah immediately at ease.

  “I’m Julia Waterman,” she said, setting down the pot of tea. “I wanted to meet you last night, but there was a slight emergency in the kitchen, and by the time it was settled, you and your sisters had left.” She set a bread basket beside the tea, pulled up a chair, and smiled warmly. “Welcome to Downlee. Want a friend?”

  This was so bluntly put that Leah couldn’t resist. Left alone, she would been self-conscious. Worse, she would have felt obligated to brood, which she wasn’t in the mood to do at all. She was feeling suddenly light-hearted. The dilemma of Jesse Cray would have to wait. Besides, Julia had come well recommended.

  “I understand you’re from Washington. I used to live there, in Cleveland Park.”

  Leah grinned. “I’m right next door, in Woodley.”

  “Ahhh, what a great area. I had a hairdresser there who gave me cuts like I’ve never had since. I mean, my hair is impossible. He was the only one who could manage it.”

  “Aubrey.”

  “He’s still there? That’s incredible! Do you love that man? After Washington, I lived in New York, and I couldn’t find anyone half as good. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been tempted to fly down just for a haircut. So he’s still there?”

  “Still there.”

  “And the Tabbard Inn? Cafe la Ruche? The Tombs?”

  Leah kept nodding and grinning. “All there,” and spots she loved, even if they were too young and interesting for some of her crowd.

  “Wow,” Julia sighed. “I forget sometimes how great Washington is.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  “I got married. Alan was a White House staffer until the president lost his job, so we moved to New York where he could be a consultant at three times the pay. By the time the next election was over and done, the marriage was, too.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. I used my divorce settlement to move here and open this place, which was what I’d dreamed of doing since I was a child, and I haven’t looked back once.”

  “You don’t miss the city?”

  “Only when I need a haircut. Everyone here is friendly. And hungry. That’s very important.”

  Leah laughed. “Dinner last night was wonderful.” She sampled the bread. “Mmmm. Dill?”

  “You bet.” Julia lit up. “I have a pâté that works well with it—” She started to rise, then paused. “Only if you want the company. I’m starved. I need a break. But maybe you’d rather sit quietly?”

  Leah didn’t hesitate. Anyone who loved the Tombs was worth pursuing. “Get the pâté. I’ll wait.”

  Julia returned with not one, but two varieties of pâté, a basket of tempura vegetables, and a bottle of San Pellegrino. “I really am starved. I slept through breakfast and barely got here in time to set up for lunch.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Down the street. My house is ancient, but it has charm. Crummy kitchen. But charm.” She reached for the bread. “I hear Star’s End has a great one.”

  Leah chuckled. “Don’t tell me. One of your regular customers is the sister-in-law of the man who put in the cabinets.”

  “Close. Here. Try this bread. It’s different from the other. It’s honey-walnut.” She topped it with a smear of pâté. “Breads are my specialty. What do you think?”

  Leah thought it was divine and told Julia so with the roll of her eyes.

  “When I was a kid,” Julia said, “I remember having warm anadama bread at church bake sales. Mind you, this tempura is great, so’s the pâté, but for happiness all I need is bread. Warm, naked bread.”

  Forget Jesse, Leah thought. She’d found her soulmate in Julia. Warm, naked bread. Her own true love. “My freezer in Washington is full of maple-curry bread. I make it by the dozen loaves.”

  Julia gasped. “Maple-curry? Sounds wonderful.”

  “One slice with a piece of cheese is lunch.” Just one slice, carefully controlled, so that she didn’t get into the bind of her teenage years. “And if not lunch, then breakfast. Or dinner.”

  “Sheer heaven,” Julia hummed. “If you feel like making some while you’re at Star’s End, bring it in. I’d love to taste it. I’d love to serve it. You could do that, you know, make some up for the lunch crowd. It’s something to do. Two weeks is a long time.”

  Leah smiled. So Julia knew the length of her stay. “What else did the grapevine tell you?”

  “That you’re attractive, that you’re nice, that you’re single. What do you think of Star’s End?”

  “It’s enchanting.”

  “It is, isn’t it? Aside from a few old reactionaries, it’s an incredibly romantic place—and that’s not even counting Jesse Cray. What a love he is. We’re in the same book group. You’ve heard the stories about Star’s End, haven’t you?”

  Indeed Leah had, though, in view of the night past, she was taking them in a new light. “Annette says it inspires artists.”

  “Not only artists. Men and women.”

  Leah wanted to hear more, but Julia was busy eating. To get her going again, she asked, “Is it the air, do you think?” There had to be a rational explanation to offset the one Jesse offered. “Something about the ocean that makes people wild? A down-to-earth, raw something?” All of which she still felt. Her insides were echoing with the same warm Jesse-hum.

  Julia swallowed what she was eating. “A something something, that’s for sure. Who knows what it is. Do you know when your mother is coming?”

  “Not yet. She may call later.”

  We’re all impatient.”

  “So are we,” Leah said. But she didn’t want to talk about Ginny. And she was afraid to ask more about romantic goings-on at Star’s End, lest she come to think she was bewitched herself. Better to talk about Julia, with whom she felt an instant rapport, but about whom she knew next to nothing. “Where did you learn how to do what you do?”

  “Here and there. I’ve always loved cooking.”

  “Did you go to culinary school?”

  “No, but I have friends who did. They let me hang around their places and watch. I’m a quick study. And I’ve always been one to experiment with different recipes, so I opened this place using the best of them, then expanded the menu little by little. People expect to find different things here from one week to the next.”

  “Do you ever run out of ideas?”

  “Once in a while. At those times I get in my car and drive down the coast. There are several great kitchens run by ex-Manhattanites. I spy.”

  Leah laughed. “You what?”

  “Wear dark glasses, study the menu until I have it memorized, and order several of the most unusual things there. Then I drive home and try to duplicate what I’ve tasted. What I end up with may be totally different from what I had, but it’s always interesting and usually good.”

  She glanced at the blackboard on the wall, with its chalked-in menu. “I’m due for a trip. I haven’t had anything really new in a while.” She brightened. “Maybe you’ll come? I’d love that, Leah. It’s much nicer when I go with someon
e—and not so awkward when I order more than one dish. I usually bring my significant other, but he’s with his mother in Kansas. She’s wheelchair-bound and frail, and needs to be in a nursing home, but she’s fighting it tooth and claw. It’s been a nightmare for Howell.”

  She looked across the room. “Uh-oh. They’re giving me the high sign.” She rose. “Will you think about it? We could go next week. All I need is a day’s notice to arrange for extra help here while I’m gone.” She gave Leah’s shoulder a squeeze. “See you in a bit.” She started off, then turned back. “And I do want to taste your maple-curry bread. Make a loaf?”

  It took Leah a while to gather everything she needed—not because she needed much, but because the people of Downlee liked to talk. Everything was owner-run. Everyone had a finger in the town’s goings-on. Had she not known better, she would have thought that the local economy hinged on the fate of Star’s End. To see the look on people’s faces, Ginny might have been a mystical creature coming to inhabit a fantasy home.

  Leah had a package in both arms and was heading for her car when Caroline emerged from a side street and nearly bumped into her.

  “Hey!” she said and peered into one of the bags. “What did you buy?”

  “Baking stuff. I’m doing bread.”

  Caroline took one of the bags and fell into step beside her. “We missed you this morning. Are you feeling okay?”

  “Fine. Great, actually.” Leah raised her nose. “I think it’s the air. So much freshness is zapping my system.” It was always possible. “Ginny hasn’t called today, has she?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Caroline?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Why haven’t you married Ben?”

  Caroline shot her a warning look. “That’s a question we usually fight about.”

  But Leah was feeling daring. “Annette usually fights you about it. Not me.”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because after so long, I’d have thought you’d either be married or broken up. But here you are, calling him every day. Do you love him?”

  “Probably.”