For My Daughters

by Barbara Delinsky

  The words had inadvertently slipped out, with instant regret. Comments like that had started arguments in the past. Her sisters had always assumed condescension, though that hadn’t been Annette’s intent at all.

  “You don’t have to have children to understand,” Caroline surprised her by saying. “I was a child once. I could have used moral support from time to time.”

  “Ditto,” Leah said.

  Annette eyed them warily. “We agree?”

  Leah looked at Caroline, who shrugged. “We do on the issue of moral support. Not on running home to St. Louis. You’ve been there for them in the past, and you’ll be there for them in the future. It’s our turn now. We need you here.”

  Annette was too stunned to argue.

  Leah had no intention of meeting Jesse that night. She wasn’t addicted to him. Not by a long shot. When it came time to leave Star’s End, she would do so without a care.

  For a time, she sat in the dark of her bedroom. She thought about Washington and the life she had built there, but the images were pale. She thought about Julia, who loved her bread and had extracted a promise for more. She thought about dinner, a boeuf bourguignon she’d made, that Caroline and Annette had sworn they wouldn’t eat because of the presence of red meat, then had proceeded to devour. She thought about the people she had met in town, who had been warm and not at all exclusionary. She thought, sadly, about the lovers of Star’s End.

  Inevitably she thought of Jesse. She imagined him hauling himself from the pool and looking for her. But he would be looking for a lover, not a coward. She owed him an explanation.

  She crept down the stairs and went out to the pool, but he wasn’t there. She walked its perimeter with an eye in the moonlight for a puddle and footprints. There were none.

  He hadn’t come. So much for owing explanations. Feeling dejected in spite of herself, she started back toward the house.

  “Leah?”

  She stopped. Her hopes soared. She squelched them. They soared again.

  He came from behind and gently turned her around. He wasn’t dressed for swimming, any more than she was dressed for bed. His voice was deep and raw with feeling. “I thought I’d test out not coming. Wanted to prove it didn’t matter if I saw you tonight or not, but it does.”

  “My life is in Washington,” the squelcher inside her said. “It’s who I am.”

  “Not when you’re here.”

  “I’m someone else here.”

  “Which one’s the real you?”

  She started to answer, then stopped. Washington was what she did with herself, but whether it was what she wanted or was most suited for was something else. She rather enjoyed wearing jeans and letting her hair go wild, and her skin was responding to the ocean air with a glow no makeup could give.

  But three hundred and sixty-five days a year?

  He drew her to him. They stood for the longest time, just holding each other.

  “Want a cappuccino?” he finally asked.

  “Mmmm.”

  He took her back to the cottage and made her a cup using the machine he had bought not at the hardware store in Downlee, but in Harvard Square several years before—but Cambridge was the tamest of his winter stops, it seemed. While the cappuccino brewed, he walked her past the photographs on the wall, telling of those trips and others. He had gone places she didn’t dare go. She was humbled, and more than a little envious.

  They carried their cappuccinos into the greenhouse, where the air was lush with the smell of rich soil and new growth. Leah was into the café scene, but she couldn’t remember one as atmospheric, all the more so when Jesse lit a candle and set it nearby. He pulled out a bench. They straddled it, facing each other, with the cappuccinos in the short space between them.

  Leah sighed. “This is unfairly romantic.”

  “Some would call it damp and uncomfortable.”

  “Nah. Not here. The whole of Star’s End is romantic. It has a charm that changes things. Take my sisters and me. We’ve been at each other’s throats through the bulk of our adult lives, but up here we get along. They’ve actually been pleasant. Caroline isn’t being superior, and Annette isn’t being maternal.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m not acting like fluff.”

  He looked amused. “How does one act like fluff?”

  “By letting Caroline and Annette believe that I go to parties every night, sleep late every morning, and spend afternoons either shopping or having my hair and nails done.”

  “Why would you want them to believe that?”

  “Because it says that I’m different from them. It warns them away from making comparisons. I don’t like being compared to my sisters. I always come out on the short end.”

  “I’m not drawn to either of them.”

  “No. You’re not.” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, because if he was drawn to one of them, her own dilemma would be different. “But they’ve done more in life than I have. Caroline is partner in a high-power law firm, and Annette has five kids. Not one or two. Five, and I can ridicule her for being super-mom to the extreme, but the fact is that she’s great at what she does.”

  “Do you want to have children?”

  She nodded. “But I’d probably make a terrible mother.”

  He shook his head, slowly and with conviction.

  “You’re biased,” she said.

  He nodded.

  He loved her. She saw it in the warmth of his eyes and felt it in the gentleness of his hands. She heard it in the fierce sounds he made when he was inside her, sounds that said he needed to be closer than even that. He insisted they were made for each other, and one part of Leah believed it. The other part wondered if it wasn’t simply the charm of Star’s End at work.

  “Caroline heard a story in Downlee today,” she said, “one about star-crossed lovers here at Star’s End. Do you know it?”

  “Depends which one you mean.”

  “The one about the married woman and the groundskeeper.”

  “I know it.”

  “Is it true?”

  He nodded.

  “They never saw each other again after that summer?”

  “No.”

  “Never wrote, never called?”

  “No.”

  “The story says they were in love.”

  “Very much.”

  “Then why did she leave? Was it just because her husband told her to?”

  “He didn’t. The decision was hers.”

  “Did she love her husband?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “But she did love the groundskeeper.”

  “Yes.”

  “And he loved her. It’s very sad. Did you know him?”

  “Everyone in town did.”

  “Is he still around?”

  “No. He died a while back.”

  “How?”

  “His heart just stopped beating.”

  “It was broken,” Leah said because it seemed the obvious thing. Then she caught herself. “Forget that. It’s not scientific.”

  “It was broken. She had taken a piece of it and it never grew back. He tried to manage without it, but he couldn’t.”

  “This is all speculative, of course. He was probably clinically depressed.”

  “Call it what you will, but he never recovered.”

  “Did he ever go after her?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Pride. And love. She had made her decision. He had to respect it. He feared that showing up on her doorstep would only make things harder for her. Besides, he didn’t have much to offer. She was a woman of means. He had nothing.”

  Leah tore her eyes from his and concentrated on her cappuccino. “What would you have done in his shoes?”

  “Just what he did.”

  “You wouldn’t have fought for her?”

  “Not given the circumstances.”

  She looked at him then. “Even if you believed she was
the only one in the world for you?”

  “Even then,” he said quietly and with the same solemnity she had seen in him at the start. “There’s love, and there’s life. Sometimes the two clash. It did in their case.” His eyes gripped hers. “But I’m not in his shoes. I have an education. I have savings. I could live elsewhere if I choose. I choose to live here.”

  She had always known that. She loved him all the more for it. But it didn’t change anything.

  Fighting a painful lump in her throat, she rose from the bench and carried her cup back through the cottage to the kitchen. She was rinsing it when he came up behind her. He put a hand on the counter on either side of the sink, hemming her in.

  “I’ve seen the world, Leah, and the more I see, the more I realize how much I love it here. I’m not being stubborn. It’s just a conviction I have. I could live in D.C. I could work at the Botanic Gardens. I have a contact there, someone I went to school with, but I wouldn’t be happy. And if I wasn’t happy, I’d make you miserable.”

  But that’s my home, Leah wanted to cry. She closed her eyes and leaned back. Behind her, he was strong and supportive, wrapping his arms around her even before she could ask, and suddenly she didn’t want to think of the future.

  He touched her. He opened her clothing. He defined her body with his hands, and his mouth, making it something that was only for him.

  They made love there in the kitchen, then again after he carried her to bed, because only through passion could she say all she felt. When she awoke, he was at the window, his nudity profiled by the dawn’s early light and more strikingly male than anything a mortal could paint. She was no more able to stay away from him than she was to stop breathing. Approaching, she slipped splayed hands up over his chest and, with her cheek pressed to his back, held him close.

  They bathed together, dressed, and returned to the main house, so that she could leave a note telling her sisters she’d gone for a walk. Then Jesse showed her his wildflower meadow. It was a special place framed by the lush green of the June woods, a riotous canvas of primary colors, of lupines, Indian blanket, and thistle.

  “God’s kaleidoscope,” Jesse said in the lyrical way that vouched for his love of the land. “A twist of the weather, a shift of the month, and the colors change.”

  Leah lay beside him among the blooms. The smell of morning dew and warm, weedy sunshine surrounded her, but what captivated her most was his face. She rolled to her side and traced the creases by his eyes. His skin showed healthy signs of weathering. The years wouldn’t make him look older, but more compelling, she knew.

  Several hours later she was thinking about that as she studied the faces of the locals having breakfast at Julia’s, when Julia slipped into the seat Jesse had vacated moments before.

  “Where’d he go?”

  “The hardware store. He’s thinking of putting in a sprinkling system. He needs pricing on pipe.”

  Julia sighed. “I do love Jesse.” She broke off a blueberry muffin crumb and put it in her mouth. “He’s one of the most sensitive men I’ve ever met. There are times when I think I’m crazy not to make a play for him.” She reached for another crumb. “But I have Howell, and Jesse isn’t interested in me. He’s interested in you.”

  “Do you think so?” Leah asked. She wondered just how obvious it was.

  Julia looked smug. “I saw how he was looking at you just now. He doesn’t look at anyone else that way, and I’m not the only one who noticed. In the last forty minutes, three different people have directed my attention this way.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  Julia grinned. “Not to worry. You guys look great together. Of course, everyone’s looking for it. I mean, there’s an irony to it, after what happened with your mother.”

  “Irony?”

  “It must be in your genes, something that reacts to being away from civilization. Then again, cerebral men are stiffs. Men who work with their hands are good with their hands, if you know what I mean. Leah? Leah, are you with me?”

  Leah was stunned. She knew the answer because it made shocking sense, still she had to ask the question. “What happened with my mother?”

  Julia looked suddenly unsure. “You knew, didn’t you?”

  “What happened?”

  “Shit.”

  “Tell me, Julia.”

  “I shouldn’t be the one. Damn it, didn’t she tell you herself? Why else would she be buying Star’s End?”

  “I need to hear the words. Please.”

  Julia looked regretful. Finally, she sighed. “She was the one, Leah. She and the groundskeeper.”

  fifteen

  WENDELL REACHED THE PORCH OF THE GENeral store earlier than usual and in a snit. He didn’t bother to stop inside for his morning coffee. He was too annoyed.

  It didn’t help that Clarence was late, ambling on down the street, taking his own sweet time about climbing the steps and moving along down the bench.

  “’Bout time,” Wendell announced in a grumble.

  Clarence eased himself down on the bench and offered his customary, “Wendell.”

  Wendell planted his hands on his thighs. He looked out over Main Street, grim as could be. “Jesse’s foolin’ around with the youngest. D’ya know that?”

  Clarence had heard they’d been seen together, and that they looked taken with each other. He’d taken a look at the girl, himself. Couldn’t say he blamed Jesse.

  “Saw’m togethuh myself,” Wendell said, “up t’all kinds’a no-good.”

  Clarence put his pipe between his teeth.

  Wendell looked at him. “Well?”

  Clarence reached for his tobacco pouch. “Well what?”

  “It ain’t right, sittin’ nearly on his lap while he’s drivin’ down the street.”

  “No law ’gainst it.”

  “Should be.”

  “We did it once.”

  “No mattuh. It doesn’t look good. I’m tellin’ ya, Stah’s End’s in trouble, and the mothuh’s no wheya in sight.”

  Clarence took the pipe from his mouth, pushed it into the pouch, and scooped tobacco into the bowl.

  “Malcolm says she’s dead,” Wendell announced.

  “Gus says she’s in New Yawk.”

  “Dead,” Wendell insisted. “Been dead a long time.”

  Clarence knew that if Virginia St. Clair was dead, the town would have known it long ago. They had a vested interest in the woman. “What’s Elmira say?”

  Wendell snorted. “Elmira says she’s on’a way, but what does Elmira know. I say she’s dead.”

  “If she’s dead, who bought Stah’s End?”

  “Daughtuhs, most likely.”

  Clarence didn’t believe it. “Why would they do that? Stah’s End’s doesn’t mean anathin’ to them. They didn’t even know about the mothuh and Will.”

  Wendell shot a look down the bench. “Who told you that?”

  “The young one was talkin’ with Julia. When Julia let it slip, she went papuh white.”

  Wendell eyed him straight on. “How d’you know that?”

  “I saw,” Clarence said and stuck the pipe back in his mouth.

  “How d’you see?”

  “I was at Julia’s.”

  “Why were ya theya?” Julia’s was enemy territory. Clarence had no business going to Julia’s. Wendell couldn’t trust anyone anymore.

  “She makes good muffins,” Clarence said. He struck a match and touched it to the tobacco.

  “Know what goes inta those muffins?”

  “Flowah—buttuh—nuts,” Clarence said between puffs, until he felt the fullness of the draw.

  “Evuh wonduh why ya like ’em so much?”

  Clarence regarded Wendell dryly.

  “Yes, suh,” Wendell said with a smug nod. “She’s up to no good with those muffins.”

  “You just don’t like Julia.”

  “She ain’t one’a us.”

  “Been heea three yeahs.”

  “That don’t mattuh. You
shouldn’t be givin’a business.”

  Clarence stretched out his legs.

  “We agreed,” Wendell charged.

  “You agreed.”

  Wendell glared at him for a minute before shifting his glare to the street.

  “And anothuh thing,” Clarence added. “I don’t see nuthin’ wrong with Jesse seein’ Leah. That’s the youngest. Leah.”

  “She’s trouble. Th’ apple don’t fall fah.”

  “She has nice haya.”

  “But she ain’t one’a us.”

  “Well, hell, Wendell, few is, nowadays. Town’s changin’, like it aw not.”

  Wendell fumed for a minute, before pushing himself up. “I’m gettin’ coffee,” he growled and went inside.

  Clarence draped an arm along the back of the bench. He took a deep draw of his pipe and blew the smoke out in a thick line. When Callie Dalton came up the steps, he touched his finger to the bill of his cap. “Mawnin’, Callie.”

  “Mawnin’, Clarence.”

  “Look out fa Wendell.”

  Callie peered cautiously through the screened front door. She stepped quickly aside when Wendell pushed it open and came through, then vanished inside.

  “Irish creme,” Wendell sneered, sniffing the contents of his mug with distaste. “Don’t know what’s wrong with just plain coffee.”

  “What’s wrong,” Clarence said, “is that it’s borin’. Got no flavah.”

  Wendell grunted.

  “And anothuh thing,” Clarence said. “Town could use a new romance. Old one’s gettin’ stale.”

  Wendell stared at him.

  Clarence puffed on his pipe. After a bit, when Wendell’s eyes remained on him, he met the look.

  “Smoke’s rottin’ ya brain.”

  “Nah. Those two look good with each othuh, is all.”

  “She’ll kill ’im, like the mothuh killed Will. Damn shame, I say. Jesse’s the best hope we got.”

  “Hope a what? Savin’ the past? Nah. Jesse’s movin’ ahead. He’s smahta than you an’ me t’gethuh.”

  “He’s as native as us.”